“No one was there,” replied the cobbler. “And I wailed until eleven struck; then until almost twelve. At length a great party of riders came down the road. When a light was struck I could see that they were all armed and wore looks that boded no good to somebody. This troubled me more than ever; but I had scarcely a glimpse of them when the youth who had engaged me told me to recross the river, tie the barge up and hold myself in readiness here until they wanted me.”
“Is that the last you saw of them?”
“No; the entire party—or so it seemed to me, at any rate—crossed the ferry and rode by here less than two hours ago.”
“I suppose,” said Nat, carelessly, “you had no idea as to where they were heading?”
“Not the least,” replied the worried cobbler; then as a sort of afterthought: “Have you?”
“How far is it to the nearest inn—on this road—riding as we are?” Nat ignored the question, as he had no desire to confide his suspicions to the talkative mechanic.
“A matter of some six miles. Perhaps a little more.”
“Perhaps your friends have stopped there; if so we might get a glimpse of them.”
“And if you do and should see anything that would make you think they’re trying to entangle me with the king’s laws, it would be a friendly act for you to ride back and give me warning.”
“Take warning now,” said the dwarf, speaking for the first time. His odd squeak startled the shoemaker, who had apparently not noticed him before, and the man stood staring at the great head and small body in something like wonder.