So off we sped, and having got the ladder, and a brace of loaded pistols, returned full quickly to the spot. But there were no cries now; leaves lay thick beneath the oak tree, but its erstwhile shaking branches were quite still, and not a sound was to be heard. "Belike enough the miserable wretch is dead by now," remarked my father, as we laid the ladder down and listened for a while. And with that he would have gone straight forward to the tree; but my knowledge of the "miserable wretch’s" ways enjoined greater caution. "Stay! Let us try this first," I said. Drawing a pistol from my belt, I fired into the tree and listened carefully; but there was neither sound nor movement, save where the bullet tore its way. "Dead, sure enough!" exclaimed my father. "Well, we will prove it now," said I, though far from certain of the risk we ran in doing so. Soon we had the ladder reared against a lofty branch: then, taking a pistol in my hand, I climbed up cautiously into the tree. At first I could see little, by reason of the thickness of the foliage; but as I neared the top ’twas quickly evident that Tubal Ammon was not there. Some broken twigs betrayed the place where he had sat; but that was all the sign there was of him. "Well!" cried my father from below. "What see you, Michael? Is he there?" "No, sir; he is not here," I answered. "’Tis as I thought--we have been fooled; our bird has flown." "Well, well; no matter," said my father, with, methought, a touch of disappointment in his voice. "’Twere better so than that he should be hanging." "Be none so sure of that," I murmured to myself, descending quickly to the ground. And there we stood and faced each other, like the beaten men we were. "Dost know who he was?" enquired my father with a searching look. "Yes, full well," I answered. "Ah! and who then was he?" "Tubal Ammon!" My father started back. "What!" he cried, "the man who held thee on the road three nights ago?" "The very same, sir," I replied. "Then, indeed, it hath an ugly look. What, think you, brought him prowling round our place?" "The hope of thieving, sir, I fancy." "Ah! so you think he is then but a common thief?" exclaimed the old man hopefully. "Nay, far from common," I replied; "for, verily, he spouted Latin by the yard." "Latin!" echoed my father, with a start. "A footpad quoting Latin? That makes the thing more ugly still. I like it not. Michael," he added, laying a hand upon my arm, and lowering his voice, as though afraid of listeners, "think you that he heard or saw what passed betwixt us?" "Nay, I scarcely think so; in fact, I asked him and he said he did not--though, verily, the word of such a prick-eared knave is little to be valued. But even if he did both see and hear, methinks he would make little of it."