e caught at the pony's mane to save
himself from falling.

"What is it?" cried Mark eagerly; "you are faint!"

"Got my hand brent a bit, young master," said the man, recovering
himself with a forced laugh. "Better now."

He drew back, and limped a little.

"But you are badly hurt. I'll get Master Rayburn to run down."

"Nay. We'll come up to him. Let him stop with the young master."

"You are not fit to come."

"What! Not to have a stroke at them devils?" cried the man fiercely.
"I'm a-coming, and so's all as can walk. I'd come if it was half a hour
'fore I was going to die. I did try to burn 'em where they were
drinking together, on'y I was in too great a hurry. I ought to ha'
waited till they was asleep."

Mark shuddered slightly, but he said no more, and proceeded to examine
the men, all of whom, to the number of seven, declared themselves fit to
come.

But, including Nick, there were only five really fit to bear arms; the
rest had unwillingly to give up. Still, there were three quite
uninjured, and these would, Mark felt, be a valuable addition to the
little force at home, for they were burning to try and do something to
help Sir Morton in his terrible strait; and even the women wished to
join. But this was declared impossible, and soon after, feeling the
strangeness of his position, Mark was riding back with his recruits.

Five minutes later, he cried, "Halt!" and sprang from his pony.

"Here, Garth," he cried, "I can't ride and see you limp along with that
wounded leg."

"Can't help my leg being hurt, young sir," cried the man sourly. "I
won't go back, so there!"

"I don't want you to; I want you to strike for your master; but you are
lame. There: up with you. Master Rayburn will make you better able to
walk when we get to the Tor."

"What, me ride on your pony?" said the man, staring.

"Yes: up, and don't lose time."

The man refused again and again, till Mark cried fiercely:

"You said you'd follow me, and I'm in command. Up this minute, sir;"
and the man climbed into the saddle.

It was in this fashion that Mark Eden led the Darley men up the zigzag,
and into the inner court of the Black Tor, where his father's followers
welcomed them with a hearty cheer, for, enemies they might be, but those
assembled felt that they were stricken sore.

CHAPTER TWENTY SIX.

"HAS YOUR FATHER BEEN A SOLDIER?"

There had been plenty going on in Mark's absence of an hour or two, and
as