gang of tramps who had joined forces for looting on a larger scale.
They had a sheep-dog with them. One of them stated that he had that
morning seen a party of armed men crossing the Somme, making use of a
big wreck which lay stranded in the middle of the river and which they
had reached by a frail, hastily-constructed bridge.

"Look," he said, "there she is, at the far end of the cliff. They slid
the girl down first and then the old, trussed-up chap."

"But," asked Simon, "the horses didn't get across that way, did they?"

"The horses? They were done for. So they let them go. Two of my mates
took three of them and have gone back to France with them. . . . If
they get there, it'll be a bit of luck for them. The fourth, he's on
the spit: we're going to have our dinner off him. . . . After all, one
must eat!"

"And those people, where were they going?" asked Simon.

"Going to pick up gold. They were talking of a fountain flowing with
gold pieces . . . real gold coins. We're going too, we are. What we're
wanting is arms: arms that are some use."

The tramps had risen to their feet; and, obeying an unconcerted and
spontaneous movement, they gathered round Simon and Dolores. The man
who had been speaking laid his hand upon Simon's rifle:

"This sort of thing, you know. A gun like that must come in handy
just now . . . especially to defend a pocket-book which is probably a
fat one. . . . It's true," he added, in a threatening tone, "that my
mates and I have got our sticks and knives, for when it comes to
talking."

"A revolver's better," said Simon, drawing his from his pocket.

The circle of tramps opened out.

"Stay where you are, will you?" he bade them. "The first of you who
moves a step, I shoot him down!"

Walking backwards, while keeping the men covered with his revolver, he
drew Dolores to the end of the promontory. The tramps had not budged a
foot.

"Come," whispered Simon. "We have nothing to fear from them."

The boat, completely capsized, squat and clumsy as the shell of a
tortoise, barred the second half of the river. In foundering she had
spilt on the sloping shore a deck cargo of timber, now sodden, but
still sound enough to enable Rolleston's gang to build a footbridge
twelve yards long across the arm of the river.

Dolores and Simon crossed it briskly. It was easy after that to go
along the nearly flat bottom of the keel and to slide down the chain
of the anchor. But, just as Dolores reache