the direct and proper course
pointed out to them. Dick could scarcely forbear laughing at these
ridiculous man[oe]uvres; but his attention was chiefly attracted towards
three individuals, who were evidently the leaders of this warlike
expedition. In the thin, tall figure of the first of these he recognized
Ranulph Rookwood. With the features and person of the second of the
group he was not entirely unacquainted, and fancied--nor incorrectly
fancied--that his military bearing, or, as he would have expressed it,
"the soldier-like cut of his jib," could belong to no other than Major
Mowbray, whom he had once eased of a purse on Finchley Common. In the
round, rosy countenance and robustious person of the last of the trio he
discovered his ancient ally, Titus Tyrconnel.

"Ah, Titus, my jewel, are you there?" exclaimed Dick, as he
distinguished the Irishman. "Come, I have _one_ friend among them whom I
may welcome. So, they see me now. Off they come, pell-mell. Back, Bess,
back!--slowly, wench, slowly--there--stand!" And Bess again remained
motionless.

The report of Turpin's pistol reached the ears of the troop; and as all
were upon the alert, he had scarcely presented himself at the gateway,
when a loud shout was raised, and the whole cavalcade galloped towards
him, creating, as may be imagined, the wildest disorder; each horseman
yelling, as he neared the arch, and got involved in the press occasioned
by the unexpected concentration of forces at that point, while oaths and
blows, kicks and cuffs, were reciprocated with such hearty good-will,
that, had Turpin ever read Ariosto or Cervantes, or heard of the discord
of King Agramante's camp, this _melee_ must have struck him as its
realization. As it was, entertaining little apprehension of the result,
he shouted encouragement to them. Scarcely, however, had the foremost
horseman disentangled himself from the crowd, and, struggling to the
door, was in the act of levelling his pistol at Turpin's head, when a
well-directed ball pierced the brain of his charger, and horse and man
rolled to the ground. Vowing vengeance, a second succeeded, and was in
like manner compelled to bite the dust.

"That will let Old Peter know that Ranulph Rookwood is at hand,"
exclaimed Dick. "I shan't throw away another shot."

The scene at the archway was now one of complete confusion. Terrified by
the shots, some of the boors would have drawn back, while others, in
mid career, advanced, and prop