Tom had now heard enough. His lingering and story-telling here had been no loss of time. He drank off his beer, made his bow to the farmers, and shuffled off. He followed the man with the bottle, saw him take a cart road through the woods, and, keeping within the trees, followed till he saw the cottage, and the man enter it. “Good,” said he; “now I know my lesson.” Tom lost no time in changing his clothes, and washing his face in a pool. He then thrust his wallet, with the old ragged toggery, into a large gorse-bush, and, like a smart servant out of livery, and in a neat Glengarry cap instead of a hat, cut across the country to the great Leicester road, and by coach next day was at Hillmartin, where he got down and walked to Woodburn. Great was the exultation at Tom’s success. It was soon arranged that Tom, with Job Latter, the constable blacksmith, Ralph Chaddick, Sir Henry’s keeper, and Luke Palin, Sir Henry’s groom,—Latter the strongest, and the two others the most active young fellows of the neighbourhood,—should set out before light in the morning; two in a spring cart, and two on horseback, and should make all speed to the place of Scammel’s retreat. It was calculated that they could reach the neighbourhood by evening, and, putting up their horses at a neighbouring village, be ready for the eight o’clock enterprise. All this they readily accomplished, and so anxious were Sir Henry and George Woodburn that they rode thither themselves. The proximity of the woods to the woodman’s house, rendered it easy to watch Scammel’s movements, and very little after the time named by the farmer they saw his well-known tall figure coming down the heath, and enter the house. “The first thing,” said Sir Henry, “on rushing into the house, look out for Scammel’s gun, and seize it if you can, or, if he have time, he will give one of you the charge.” It was now at the end of September, getting fast dark, and the four men, taking a little, cautious circuit, came up at the back of the house. The window-shutters were not closed, and, by the light of the fire, they saw Scammel seated facing the hearth, with his back towards them. His gun was laid on a table at his right hand. The woodman and his wife were seated by the chimney, to the left of Scammel, and had each a mug of ale in their hands. At once there was a rush. Scammel started up, but only to be pinioned by Latter’s iron gripe; his gun, towards which he stretched out his hand, was adroitly drawn back by Luke Palin. In another moment there was a tremendous struggle. Scammel, who possessed enormous strength, twisted himself partly loose, by a violent effort, from Latter’s clutch, and came face to face, but it was only to be caught in a hug worthy of a great grizzly bear of the American forests, whilst Palin and Chaddick also closed upon him. The struggle was then furious. Scammel put forth his huge strength; he kicked, he bit, he foamed at the mouth, and swore terribly. But