Now the side of the fort where Rob's cell lay was not much frequented until broad daylight, the sentry rarely coming so far along--an item with which Muckle John was well acquainted. Opposite this part the hill sloped upwards towards broken country, commanding a clear view from the walls. It was not until seven o'clock, for the morning was dark and cold, that a man passing through the inner courtyard to water the horses saw the rope dangling down the wall, and with a frenzied shout brought the sentry at a run towards him. "Prisoner escaped!" yelled the fellow. With an answering cry the sentry raced away. A moment later a bugle sounded the call to arms. Clatter of muskets, hoarse voices, commands, questions, running footsteps--all the characteristic commotion of a sudden alarm--reached Rob in his hiding-place, and set him wondering whether Muckle John had failed him, or whether he had dreamed he heard the reed. For his position was precarious. He had escaped for the time; but he was like a rat in a trap--able neither to go backwards nor forwards. The voice of Strange interrupted his anxious thoughts. "Guard the gates!" he ordered. "Come with me, you men, and search the cell." Up the stairs they stamped and their footsteps died away. Rob imagined them tearing up the stone steps to his cell. He could almost see Strange peering through the window with its filed bars. Suddenly he heard him shout from far above him as though his head were thrust out of the window: "There he is! There he is!" It sent a shiver through his limbs. But no one approached the cart. Instead, the excitement grew even more intense, and the courtyard about the cart became thronged with hurrying soldiers. On the outer walls he heard muskets firing, and cries of "There they go!" as though they aimed at men upon the hill. It was all very baffling and mysterious. Was Muckle John attempting a rescue by force of arms? Rob lay very still, and then his perplexity was set at ease, for he heard a voice he knew well call from a window some twenty feet above him: "Vot is it, Strange?" and Strange, despite his hurry replied: "The prisoner, Rob Fraser, your Highness, is riding away up the hill with another man." "Then after 'im, Strange!" roared the Duke. "Ten pounds to the man who catches 'im. Open the gates; I vill take 'orse myself!" With a rattle the gates rolled back. The soldiers galloped through, Strange at their head. A few moments later and troopers were spurring up the hill-side--the whole fort was deserted for such a steeplechase. Ten pounds seemed within the grasp of many that day. The last trooper had hardly dashed away before a man came quickly across the courtyard leading a heavy horse. With swift hands he hitched it to the wagon, and, swinging himself up on the side with his feet upon Rob, he started towards the gates. A solitary soldier challenged him with a broad grin. "No rebels in that cart?" he said, peeping over the top.