A sound far off came to our ears. It was the clatter of horses’ hoofs on the hard road. For a time we listened. Then they died off as though the riders had stopped or had entered the woods. Hope rose in our breasts that it was friends who were coming to our aid. But in a short time it died, for we were to learn that it was the enemy now with a dozen men to where they had one before.
The clatter of hoofs started again irregularly as though the horses were cavorting in a circle. Then they came swiftly down the road. At each second they grew more and more distinct. At length they came into view—a whole troop of them. The chief wore a coat of shining mail and had a plume in his hat. His gauntlets flashed in the sun.
Without any ado they reined in their horses before the inn. The men dismounted as one, like drilled soldiers. They formed behind their captain and walked towards us. With his fist he knocked heavily against the surface of the upright table.
“Who are you?” demanded the archer.
“Servants of his Majesty, the King!” came the abrupt reply.
“—and what do you want?”
“You have a lad there who is a spy,” was the answer. “He is to be delivered into our hands.”
The archer waited a moment before he made reply.
“And if we refuse?” he said.
“We are not here to parley with you,” declared the captain. “If you do not deliver him forthwith, you are taking your life in your hands.”