some, that one man could so easily
disarm four, but 'tis readily understood if you have looked into the
muzzle of a horse-pistol held within a few inches of your head.

Thus, all being completed, the highwayman, having mounted, gave us the
word to proceed, Bentley and I riding first, then Raikes and the
Captain, and last of all the fellow, pistol in hand. So thus it was, in
the dusk of the evening, that we came into Tonbridge Town, with never a
word betwixt us--myself silent from sheer amazement, the Captain for
reasons of his own, Sir Harry Raikes for very obvious causes, but mostly
(as I judge) on account of his chattering teeth, and Bentley because a
man cannot whistle "Lillibuleero" beneath his breath and talk at the
same time.

Lights were beginning to gleam at windows as we entered the High Street,
and here I made sure the highwayman would have left us--but no, on
turning my head, there he rode, close behind--his battered hat over his
nose, and his pistol in his hand, for all the world as if we were back
on the open road rather than the main thoroughfare of a Christian town.

By this time we were become a mark for many eyes; people came running
from all sides, the air hummed with voices; shouts were heard, mingled
with laughter and jeers, but we rode on, and through it all at a gallop.
As we passed "The Chequers" I saw the windows full of faces, and
Truscott and Finch with five or six others came running out to stare
after us open mouthed. So we galloped through Tonbridge Town, and never
drew rein until we were out upon the open road once more. There the
fellow stopped us.

"Masters all," says he, "'tis here we part--maybe you'll forget
me--maybe not--especially one of you; d'ye take me?" and he pointed to
the shivering figure of Raikes. "The wind is plaguily chill I'll allow,
but burn me! could I be blamed for that, my masters--what, all silent?
Well! Well! Howsomever, give me that trinket, Master--just to show
there's no ill-feeling, so to speak; and he indicated a small gold
locket that Raikes wore round his neck on a riband, who, without a word,
or even looking up, slipped it off and laid it in the other's
outstretched hand.

"Well, good-night, my masters, good-night!" says he, in his jovial
voice; "maybe we shall meet again, who knows? My best respects to you
all--me being respectful by natur'. Good-night." So, with an awkward
flourish of his hat, he wheeled his horse and galloped away towards
London.