“The lieutenant will be here directly,” said the man, and as he spoke a party of horsemen came galloping down the lane.
“Who fired that shot?” cried the officer in charge. Before an answer could be given he came upon the two captives. “Who are you?” he demanded.
“Travellers to Carlisle, who have lost their way in the mist and are seeking the high road.”
“If you have a pass, let me see it.”
“Here it is!”
“Your name is Armstrong, perhaps?”
“The pass does not say so.”
“Do you deny it?”
“No.”
“You are prisoners. Where is the bugler?”