outlaws be at work at
last, they have Sir Pertolepe out-flanked d'ye see--now might ye behold
what well-sped shafts can do upon a close array--pretty work-sweet
work! Would I knew where Walkyn lay!"

"Here, comrade!" said a voice from the shade of the great tree.

"How--what do ye there?" cried the archer.

"Wait for Red Pertolepe."

"Why then, sweet Walkyn, good Walkyn--come loose us of our bonds that
we may wait with thee--"

"Nay," growled Walkyn, "ye are the bait. When the outlaws have slain
enough of them, Pertolepe's men must flee this way: so will Red
Pertolepe stay to take up his prisoners, and so shall I slay him in
that moment with this mine axe. Ha!--said I not so? Hark I they break
already! Peace now--wait and watch." So saying, Walkyn crouched behind
the tree, axe poised, what time the dust and roar of battle rolled
toward them up the hill. And presently, from out the rolling cloud,
riderless horses burst and thundered past, and after them--a staggering
rout, mounted and afoot, spurring and trampling each other 'neath the
merciless arrow-shower that smote them from the banks above. Horse and
foot they thundered by until at last, amid a ring of cowering men-at-arms,
Sir Pertolepe galloped, his white horse bespattered with blood
and foam, his battered helm a-swing upon its thongs; grim-lipped and
pale he rode, while his eyes, aflame 'neath scowling brows, swept the
road this way and that until, espying Beltane 'neath the tree, he
swerved aside in his career and strove to check his followers' headlong
flight.

"Stay," cried he striking right and left. "Halt, dogs, and take up the
prisoners. Ha! will ye defy me-rogues, caitiffs! Fulk! Raoul! Denis!
Ho, there!"

But no man might stay that maddened rush, wherefore, swearing a great
oath, Sir Pertolepe spurred upon Beltane with Beltane's sword lifted
for the blow. But, from the shade of the tree a mighty form uprose, and
Sir Pertolepe was aware of a hoarse, glad cry, saw the whirling flash
of a broad axe and wrenched hard at his bridle; round staggered the
white horse, down came the heavy axe, and the great horse, death-smitten,
reared up and up, back and back, and crashing over, was lost 'neath
the dust of swift-trampling hoofs.

Now presently, Beltane was aware that his bonds cramped him no longer,
found Roger's arm about him, and at his parched lips Roger's steel
head-piece brimming with cool, sweet water; and gulping thirstily, soon
felt the numbnes