“To Langholm be it, then,” said Cnut, “though I love not the place.  Sir John of Wortham is a worse neighbor by far than the earl.  Against the latter we bear no malice, he is a good knight and a fair lord; and could he free himself of the Norman notions that the birds of the air, and the beasts of the field, and the fishes of the water, all belong to Normans, and that we Saxons have no share in them, I should have no quarrel with him.  He grinds not his neighbors, he is content with a fair tithe of the produce, and as between man and man is a fair judge without favor.  The baron is a fiend incarnate; did he not fear that he would lose by so doing, he would gladly cut the throats, or burn, or drown, or hang every Saxon within twenty miles of his hold.  He is a disgrace to his order, and some day, when our band gathers a little stronger, we will burn his nest about his ears.”

“It will be a hard nut to crack,” Cuthbert said, laughing.  “With such arms as you have in the forest the enterprise would be something akin to scaling the skies.”

“Ladders and axes will go far, lad, and the Norman men-at-arms have learned to dread our shafts.  But enough of the baron; if we must be his neighbors for a time, so be it.”

“You have heard, my mates,” he said, turning to his comrades gathered around him, “what Cuthbert tells us.  Are you of my opinion, that it is better to move away till the storm is past than to fight against heavy odds, without much chance of either booty or victory?”

A general chorus proclaimed that the outlaws approved of the proposal for a move to Langholm Chase.  The preparations were simple.  Bows were taken down from the boughs on which they were hanging, quivers slung across the backs, short cloaks thrown over the shoulders.  The deer was hurriedly dismembered, and the joints fastened to a pole slung on the shoulders of two of the men.  The drinking-cups, some of which were of silver, looking strangely out of place among the rough horn implements and platters, were bundled together, carried a short distance and dropped among some thick bushes for safety; and then the band started for Wortham.

With a cordial farewell and many thanks to Cuthbert, who declined their invitations to accompany them, the retreat to Langholm commenced.

Cuthbert, not knowing in which direction the bands were likely to approach, remained for awhile motionless, intently listening.

In a quarter of an hour he heard the distant note of a bugle.

It was answered in three different directions, and Cuthbert, who knew every path and glade of the forest, was able pretty accurately to surmise those by which the various bands were commencing to enter the wood.

Knowing that they were still a long way off, he advanced as rapidly as he could in the direction in which they were coming.  When by the sound of distant voices and the breaking of branches he knew that one, at least, of the parties was near at hand, he rapidly climbed a thick tree and ensconced himself in the branches, and there watched, secure and hidden from the sharpest eye, the passage of a body of men-at-arms fully a hundred strong, led by Sir Walter himself, accompanied by some half dozen of his knights.