y to waste on their talk, but
he could not avoid listening.

"He would have been the best agent in the King's service to a
certainty," said one. "He's the 'cutest man _I_ ever tackled. It's
parlish odd how he baffles us."

The speaker was clearly a Cumbrian.

"Shaf!" replied his companion, in a kind of whisper, "he's a pauchtie
clot-heed. I'll have him at Haribee in a crack."

The second speaker was as clearly a Scot who was struggling against
the danger there might be of his speech bewraying him.

"Well, you're pretty smart on 'im. I never could rightly make aught of
thy hate of 'im."

"Tut, man, live and learn. Let me have him in Wilfrey Lawson's hands,
and ye'll see what for I hate the proud-stomached taistrel."

"Well," said the Cumbrian, in a tone indicative of more resignation
than he had previously exhibited, "I've no more cause to love 'im than
yourself. You saw 'im knock me down in the streets of Lancaster."

"May ye hang him up for it, Bailiff Scroope," replied the Scot. "May
ye hang him up for it on the top of Haribee!"

Robbie understood enough of this conversation to realize the character
and pursuit of his travelling companions; but the details and tone of
the dialogue were not of an interest sufficiently engrossing to keep
him awake. He dozed afresh, and in the unconsciousness of a fitful
sleep he passed a good many miles of his dreary night ride.

A sudden glare in his eyes awoke him at one moment. They were passing
the village of Hollowbank. Fires were lit on the road, and dark
figures were crouching around them. Robbie was too drowsy to ask the
meaning of these sights, and he soon slept once more.

When he awoke again, he thought he caught the echo of the word
"Wythburn" as having been spoken behind him; but whether this were
more than a delusion of the ear, such as sometimes comes at the moment
of awakening, he could not be sure until (now fully awake) he
distinctly heard the Cumbrian use the name of Ralph Ray.

Robbie's curiosity was instantly aroused, and in the effort to shake
off the weight of his drowsiness he made a backward movement of the
head, which was perceived by the strangers. He was conscious that one
of the men had risen, and was leaning over to the driver to ask who he
himself might be, and where he was going.

"A country lad of some sort," said Jim. "I know nought, no mair."

"I thought maybe he were a friend," said the stranger, with
questionable veracity.

The con