"Shall we stir the porkers up with our trusty cross-bows—yclept, these pea-shooters—and then engage them in mortal combat? Nay, in this sottish state they are not worthy foemen. Right about turn, boys. We will hie us up yonder hills for an afternoon's ramble."
"Ay, ay, good Robin," the Merry Men readily agreed.
It was a clear, frosty day, and even the bright sun shine did little to neutralize the sharp nip in the air. It meant moving briskly to keep the blood in circulation; the higher they climbed, the keener blew the breeze.
"Ripping way to get warm, doing the 'Excelsior' stunt up this hillside," said Robin enthusiastically. "See that cottage in front of the fir trees, Men? That's where Forge found Old Man Wykeham's valuables."
"By Jove, let's have a squint inside it," Little John suggested.
"Softly, my faithful henchman! Dost thou not know that this self-same cottage is guarded, night and day, by the myrmidons of the law?"
"But the coppers won't interfere with us. They know we're all from Foxenby, and mean no harm. Come on!"
"Nay hold! Thou art my right-hand man, Little John, and many a time and oft have I had cause to be thankful for the doughty assistance of thy strong right arm. But methinks thou art far from possessing the wisdom of a Socrates."
"Go on, call me a blinking ass and have done with it," said Flenton, rather ruefully.
"No offence, my trusty bowman. Canst thou not see, however, that to enter the cottage boldly will be to bring down on our helpless heads the wrath of the police? They are not in the cottage itself, but hidden amongst the gorse-bushes, ready to pounce on the thieves if they venture inside."