These unfrequented forest paths did not
offer them sufficient hope of booty to attract them in large
numbers, and Tom had no fear of meeting an enemy too strong for
him.
But security is not always safety, as Tom was destined to find to
his cost. In spite of their best efforts, and the gallant response
made by their good horses, dusk fell whilst they were still
threading the tortuous forest paths, and Robin was fain to admit
that he would be puzzled to find the way in the dark; indeed, he
was not certain that he was on the right track now.
It was impossible to ride fast in the gathering darkness, and upon
so rough a way; and Tom had more than once suggested that they
should make their bed in some hollow tree, and wait for daylight
before pursuing their journey.
They had halted in an open place, and were just discussing the
matter, when--whiz!--a bullet grazed the flank of Wildgoose, and
the mettlesome creature reared straight into the air, threatening
to fall backwards over his rider.
"Mark ho!" cried a loud voice, and there was a crackling of the
underwood all round.
"It is the footpads!" cried Robin. "I have beard that call before;"
and in a moment the travellers had their pistols out, and were
warily awaiting the first sign of attack.
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