“Bear up, Tom lad, it be only a bit farther! Bear up an’ we’ll cog ’em yet. You, Dick, is yon keg loose?”
“Aye, Jarge, it be.”
“Then let ’em ’ave it! Away wi’t!”
Ensued a creak of leather, a heavy thud, and away down the slope bounded the unseen missile; and then horses and men were past and swallowed in the pervading gloom.
But from below rose shouts, cries and cheers, a growing tumult, and up the slope straggled the pursuers, a mixed company of soldiery and coastguards pounding by with a rattle of accoutrements and the dull gleam of bayonet and cutlass.
And then Sir John found himself running also, but still grasping Sir Hector’s arm and keeping always in the gloom of hedges; on and on till he was breathless; past gloomy trees, across dykes and ditches, stumbling and slipping yet still maintaining fast hold of his companion’s arm; on through a dim-seen gate and so along a dusty road until Sir Hector halted all at once.
“Hark, John!” he panted. “Hark to yon!”
In their front was sudden clamour swelling to exultant shouts and cheers, whereupon Sir Hector cursed bitterly and hurried on again with tireless stride.
“What is it?” gasped Sir John.
“They’ve captured some o’ the lads!” panted Sir Hector. “An’ now ’tis tae the rescue or be taken wi’ ’em ... loose me, John!”