It was impossible to ride fast in the gathering darkness, and upon so rough a way; and Tom had more than once suggested that they should make their bed in some hollow tree, and wait for daylight before pursuing their journey.

They had halted in an open place, and were just discussing the matter, when—­whiz!—­a bullet grazed the flank of Wildgoose, and the mettlesome creature reared straight into the air, threatening to fall backwards over his rider.

“Mark ho!” cried a loud voice, and there was a crackling of the underwood all round.

“It is the footpads!” cried Robin.  “I have beard that call before;” and in a moment the travellers had their pistols out, and were warily awaiting the first sign of attack.

It was not long in coming.  Three men with blackened faces sprang out from different places, and the crackling of the underwood showed that more were lurking out of sight.

Tom took steady aim, and brought down the foremost villain at the first shot; but Robin was not so lucky.  He winged his man, but did not drop him, and the next moment four stalwart figures had sprung out to the aid of their comrades, and the travellers were surrounded.

Tom set his teeth hard, a great fury in his heart.  He took aim again, and another of his assailants dropped as he pulled the trigger; then, setting spurs to Wildfire, who was well-nigh distracted with terror at the noise and the flash in the darkness, he rode clean over the man who had sprung at his bridle rein, and calling to Robin to follow him, he sped away in the darkness at a pace which was risk to life and limb.

The footpads seemed taken aback by this move, for they had reckoned that a headlong flight into the recesses of the forest would be too great a peril to be risked; and indeed it was a headstrong course to take.  But Tom was in a headstrong mood, and his horse was beside himself with fear.  Both man and beast were well used to reckless riding, and Tom had eyes like a cat, whilst Wildfire had both the wonderful sight and wonderful instinct of his race.  Tom lay along the horse’s back, now on this side, now on that, dodging, swaying, manoeuvring, in a fashion which showed marvellous horsemanship, and all the while listening eagerly for the sound of Wildgoose’s following steps.

But he heard nothing.  The silence of the forest was unbroken save for the noise he made himself.  It became plain at last that he was alone.  Robin and Wildgoose had either lost his track, or had not followed him.

And a sudden doubt surged into Tom’s brain as to whether or not Robin had betrayed him to the footpads.  Was it not Robin who had connived at all the halts upon the way in the morning, Robin who had advised pushing on, and had undertaken to find the way by day or night?  Robin was a son of the forest himself.  Might he not have friends amongst these very outlaws?  Had not his father warned him before this that he did not trust Robin, and did not like his son’s intimacy with the young man?