A STRANGE RIDE 17

hill again, took their old places in the ranks, and spattered
through the shallow ford.

The bandy-legged man had pulled a dagger from be.
neath his coat, and held it under his bridle-rein, shining
through the horse’s mane as they dashed through the stil]
half-sleeping town. Nick was speechless with terror.

Beyond the town’s end they turned sharply to the north-
east, galloping steadily onward for what was perhaps
half an hour, though to Nick it seemed a forever, until
they came out into a great highway running southward.
“Watling street!” he heard the man behind him say, and
knew that they were in the old Roman road that stretched
from London to the north. Still they were galloping,
though long strings dribbled from the horses’ mouths, and
the saddle-leathers dripped with foam. One or two looked
back at him and bit their lips; but Carew’s eyes were hot
and fierce, and his hand was on his poniard. The rest,
after a curious glance or two, shrugged their shoulders
earelessly and galloped on: this affair was Master Gaston
Carew’s business, not theirs.

Until high noon they hurried on with neither stop nor
stay. Then they came toa place where a little brook sang
through the grass by the roadside in a shady nook beneath
some mighty oaks, and there the master-player whistled
for a halt, to give the horses breath and rest, and to water
them at the brook-pools. Some of the players sauntered
up and down to stretch their tired legs, munching meat
and bread ; and some lay down upon the grass and slept a
little. Two of them came, offering Nick some cakes and