When the arms had been gathered, Squire Metcalf reined up in front of the prisoners. "Men of Fairfax’s," he said bluntly, "you’re a ragged lot to look at, but there are gentlemen among you. I do not speak of rank or class. The gentlemen, as the price of freedom, will take no further part in the Rebellion. The louts may do as they please, but they had best not let me catch them at the fighting." The words came hot and ready, and though the dispersed company of prisoners laughed afterwards at the Squire’s handling of the matter, they warmed to his faith in them. They had volunteered from many occupations to serve the Parliament. Blacksmiths and clothiers and carpenters from Otley were mingled with farmers and slips of the gentry from the outlying country. All answered to the keen issue Squire Metcalf had given them. They were trusted. On the next day twenty of them lost hold of his message, and went in search of arms; but thirty were constant to their pledge, and this, with human nature as it is, was a high tribute to the Squire’s persuasiveness. The Metcalf men rode quietly toward Skipton. For the first time since their riding out from Nappa, they felt lonely. They had fought twice, and their appetite was whetted; but no other battle showed ahead. They were young to warfare, all of them, and thought it one happy road of skirmish, uproar, and hard blows, from end to end of the day’s journey. The only break in the monotony came as they rode up the steep track to Embsay Moor. At the top of the hill, dark against the sunlit sky, a solitary horseman came into view, halted a moment to breathe his horse, then trotted down at a speed that the steepness of the road made foolhardy. He did not see the Metcalf company until it was too late to turn about, and trotted forward, since needs must. "On which side of the battle?" asked Squire Metcalf, catching the bridle. "On which side are you, sir?" "The King’s, but you are not. No King’s man ever bandies questions; he answers straight to the summons which side he stands for." They found a message after diligent searching of his person. The message was in Lambert’s neat Quakerish handwriting, and was addressed to a captain of horse in Ripon, bidding him take his men to Ripley and keep watch about the Castle. "That termagant, Lady Ingilby, is making her house a meeting-place for Cavaliers," the message read. "Her husband at the wars is one man only. She rallies twenty to the cause each day. See to it, and quickly." "Ay," said the Squire, with his rollicking laugh, "we’ll see to it." It was astonishing to see the change in this man, who until yesterday had been content to tend his lands, to watch the dawn come up and sunset die over the hills he loved, and get to his early sleep. His father and his grandfather had handled big issues in the open, though he himself had chosen a stay-at-home squire’s life; and the thing that is in the blood of a man leaps forward always at the call of need.