The pace slackening now, he slipped his sword back into the sheath, and, taking time to look about him, saw some of those who rode near had been cut, but he himself and his two horses were without a scratch. Turning in the saddle to gaze back, he saw other bands of horse come straggling behind them. “Is the fight all over?” he asked a trooper who trotted beside him. “Over?” swore the fellow. “What more d’ye want?” Then he looked pretty sharply at Hugh, and ended by offering to lead the wagon-horse for him, an offer the boy refused. Next the trooper, assuring Hugh he might have no end of difficulties in maintaining his right in the capture, proposed to give him ten shillings for the beast. What more he would say Hugh never found out, for, as they rode at a slackened pace a little on the flank, a horseman from the rear came charging into them, stared, and cried Hugh’s name. It was Bob Saxon of Gwyeth’s troop, who, scenting a matter of horse-dealing, voluntarily came in, and, falling upon the other man, bepraised the captured horse till he clean talked the fellow out of the field. “Ten shillings?” Saxon repeated contemptuously to Hugh, “Lord forgive the knave! The beast is worth fifty. Come along with me, sir, and I’ll find you a market.” They made a great circuit off to the north of the field and about dusk fetched up in a hamlet to the rear of the army, whither Royalist troops were now marching from Edgehill to seek quarters. Saxon gathered some half score of dragoons and a petty officer or two in the street before the village inn, where, with loud swearing and shouting, he showed off to them the captured horse. There followed much chaffering and wrangling, with Saxon’s voice loudest, which ended in the paying of the money and the delivering over of the beast. “Fifty shillings, as I promised you, sir,” Saxon announced, as he told them into Hugh’s hand, with a suggestive look that made Hugh pass him back five for himself. “You’re a good piece of a gentleman, sir,” the trooper said candidly, as they rode out from the hamlet. “Be you never going to serve under Colonel Gwyeth?” Hugh winced and answered “No,” then, bidding Saxon good-bye, headed for the manor house, which he was not able to discover till mid-evening. It was a relief to find himself safe among his comrades, for he was so conscious of the forty-five shillings in his pocket that he felt sure every prowler and hanger-on of the camp must have marked them for plunder.