The Carleton man was striving sore to draw his bow and place another bolt; and had he been but half so deft with that goodly weapon as Cedric had twice shown himself that day, he might have stopped me in full career with an arrow in the breast or face. But he fumbled sadly with the string, and ere he could reach another bolt from his pouch I was almost upon him. In this strait he dropped the bow and, standing erect, whisked a broadsword from his belt. The scoundrel was tall and long of arm; and now I saw that he wore a quilted and steel-braced jacket which none but the heaviest blow might pierce. I had already repented me of my folly in rushing, for the second time that day, into combat so unequal, and was bethinking me what trick of fence might serve my turn with this brawny and ill-visaged swordsman, when once again the skilled and ready hand of my friend of the Lincoln green saved me from dire peril. Even as our blades clashed, and I felt in his sword-play the firm, sure wrist of my enemy, a bolt whizzed past me and pierced his neck, just where the quilted jacket lay open at the throat. Without a cry, he fell forward on his face. I looked wildly about, in effort to espy more of the men-at-arms, if so be they were awaiting us in ambush. But I could see no one; and no more arrows came from hidden foes. The woods were as quiet and serene, and the westering sun sent its beams as sweetly into the bonny glade as though men had never killed one another for gain or vengeance. Cedric, on the Carleton war-horse, came forward at a canter, with his bow made ready for another shot if need were. “Are there more of the hounds?” he called, “if so be, we must take shelter.” “I see none,” I answered, “though yonder, midst the little birches, is the horse which this one rode. Mayhap his comrades have ridden by other roads to cut us off.” “’Tis truth,” said Cedric, “yon Jackboots, that lieth now so still, did come about by Wareham Road at breakneck pace while we made but slow riding through the tangle. ’Twas well he had not the skill of a yeoman with the cross-bow, else one or both of us would ne’er again have seen Mountjoy. But come! Can thy little mare hold full stride through the glen and over yonder hill? An if she can, we may soon be where no Carletons will dare pursue.” For answer I set spurs to the mare’s sides and led the way down the path to the brook at the bottom of the valley. In a cloud of spray we forded the stream, then drove on without mercy up the long slope of Rowan Hill. Soon we were in sight of the towers of Mountjoy, and while the sun had yet an hour’s height, went safely o’er the drawbridge. CHAPTER IV—THE CHAMPION OF MOUNTJOY