"We are safe," cried Luke; "the limits of Hardchase are past. In a few seconds we shall enter Davenham Wood. I will turn the horse loose, and we will betake ourselves to flight amongst the trees. I will show you a place of concealment. He cannot follow us on horseback, and on foot I defy him." "Stay," cried the sexton. "He is not in pursuit--he takes another course--he wheels to the right. By Heaven! it is the Fiend himself upon a black horse, come for Bow-legged Ben. See, he is there already." The horseman had turned, as the sexton stated, careering towards a revolting object at some little distance on the right hand. It was a gibbet, with its grisly burden. He rode swiftly towards it, and, reining in his horse, took off his hat, bowing profoundly to the carcase that swung in the morning breeze. Just at that moment a gust of air catching the fleshless skeleton, its arms seemed to be waved in reply to the salutation. A solitary crow winged its flight over the horseman's head as he paused. After a moment's halt, he wheeled about, and again shouted to Luke, waving his hat. "As I live," said the latter, "it is Jack Palmer." "Dick Turpin, you mean," rejoined the sexton. "He has been paying his respects to a brother blade. Ha, ha! Dick will never have the honor of a gibbet; he is too tender of the knife. Did you mark the crow? But here he comes." And in another instant Turpin was by their side. _CHAPTER II_ _A GIPSY ENCAMPMENT_ I see a column of slow-rising smoke O'ertop the lofty wood, that skirts the wild. COWPER: _The Task_. "The top of the morning to you, gem'men," said Turpin, as he rode up at an easy canter. "Did you not hear my halloo? I caught a glimpse of you on the hill yonder. I knew you both, two miles off; and so, having a word or two to say to you, Luke Bradley, before I leave this part of the country, I put Bess to it, and she soon brought me within hail. Bless her black skin," added he, affectionately patting his horse's neck, "there's not her match in these parts, or in any other; she wants no coaxing to do her work--no bleeders for her. I should have been up with you before this had I not taken a cross cut to look at poor Ben. One night, when mounted on my mare. To Bagshot Heath I did repair, And saw Will Davies hanging there, Upon the gibbet bleak and bare, _With a rustified, fustified, mustified air._ Excuse my singing. The sight of a gibbet always puts me in mind of the Golden Farmer. May I ask whither you are bound, comrades?" "Comrades!" whispered the sexton to Luke; "you see _he_ does not so easily forget his old friends." "I have business that will not admit of delay," rejoined Luke; "and to speak plainly----"