Alison had already leaped her pony across the burn, where the treacherous quagmire was soft and spongy, and she gave a cry of alarm as the frightened creature sank over his fetlocks and floundered wildly.
"Have no fear, little lady," said a deep voice beside her, and a strange man rose out of the hazel copse and grasped her rein.
A plunge and a squeal of terror from the pony, and then the stranger had plucked the pair from all danger, and set them safely in the bed of the burn.
"By my faith, pretty lassie, ye hae a fine spirit and a soft cheek," said the bearded man, patting the one as he praised the other; "but your confounded moss is a fearsome spot, and I came none too soon—nay, look not sae scared—Wat Armstrong will do ye nae hurt, and maybe ye'll tell me if we ride in the way for Langley Tower?"
Jocelyn came spurring back.
"If you follow us we will show you the path you seek," he said, his face scarlet, and his eyes meeting Alison's. "You have saved my sister from peril, and one courtesy deserves another," and thus speaking, he led her pony up to the bank top, as the reiver's band came straggling out of the hazel copse, forty moss-troopers with spears and axes.
"Now for our lives, Ally," he cried, striking her pony with the flat of his sword, and away tore brother and sister up the grassy valley before the reiver had inkling of their design.
"By the rood!" shouted Black Wat, smiting his thigh, "they hae baith of them the fair hair of the cursed Langleys—ride men, ride, else our trouble is a' for naught—we shall cut them off at the brae heid!"
From forty throats went up a yell that sent the curlews wheeling over the moss, and the earth trembled with the thunder of iron hoofs, but the ponies were fresh, and pacing like the wind, and already they had good start of their pursuers.
"Beware the heather roots, Ally," cried Jocelyn between his set teeth, "one stumble, and they will burn our Tower; if aught happen me, ride on and warn Long John!"