saw the huge mob of people break up into billows of
contending portions under his very eyes.

"Lock the gates of the city," screamed Carfax, at this juncture. "We
have them trapped at last."

Little John was free and had seized an axe. Much and Middle had brought
bags of meal with them, and both repeated the miller's old trick of
flinging the white meal into the eyes of the enemy.

Robin had broken up his band into small parties, and all were engaged
simultaneously.

In less time than it takes to tell, the space without the castle was
turned to pandemonium.

Again and again Robin's horn sounded, calling them together, and slowly
but surely his small parties formed up into a whole, beating their way
through the crowd with their swords and axes. So soon as they were
together, with Little John safely in the middle of them, they fell to
their bows and sped a cloud of arrows amongst the Sheriff's men.

Then they turned to retreat, and fell back so suddenly that they had
made good start ere Monceux had divined their intent. They sped towards
the north gate, that one being nearest to Barnesdale.

Crafty Carfax had forestalled them, however. The north gate was closed
hard and fast, and the bridge drawn.

The outlaws doubled on their track and charged at their pursuers with
lowered pikes and waving axes. The crowd before them yielded sullenly
and allowed them passage.

"To the west gate, Robin, hasten," cried a shrill voice. "'Tis more
easily opened than the rest, and the bridge is down--someone hath
smashed the winch."

Robin's heart leaped in his body--'twas the voice of Gilbert of Blois!
"Marian," breathed he, overcome with terror for her, "oh, my dearest!"

"Follow, follow!" she cried, with flashing eyes; "there is not a moment
to be lost."

Robin saw that it was a matter of life or death now in any case. "To the
west gate!" he called, "Locksley! a Locksley!"

It was the old battle cry, and only a few of them remembered it. Yet it
served and served well. The greenwood men formed up into close ranks,
and all followed the little page, shouting lustily, "Locksley! a
Locksley!"

In the rush and hurry Robin saw that Scarlett was there, and Warrenton
and Allan-a-Dale. And with the little page ran another, a fair-haired
boy, with strangely familiar face.

"'Tis Fennel," whispered Allan, at Robin's side. "She would not be
left."

He spoke as they ran, with the enemy now in full pursuit of them. Every
now and ag