I had a hope for a little while that the track they left would be
enough for my men to follow if they hit on it, but there was little
snow lying in the sheltered woodlands, and there the track was
lost. And these men scattered presently in all directions, so that
trace of them was none. Only the leader and some dozen men stayed
with me.

So they took me for many a long mile, always going seaward, until
we were in a deep valley that bent round among the hills until its
head was lost in their folds, and there was some sort of a camp of
these outlaws sheltered from any wind that ever blew, and with a
clear brook close at hand. All round on the hillsides was the
forest, but there was one landmark that I knew.

High over the valley's head rose a great hill, and on that was an
ancient camp. It was what they call the "Dinas," the refuge camp of
the Quantock side, which one can see from Glastonbury and all the
Mendips.

Here they took me from the horse and bound my feet afresh, and took
the gag from my mouth and set me against a tree, and so waited
until the band had gathered once more, lighting a great fire
meanwhile. Glad enough was I of its warmth, for it is cold work
riding bound through the frost.

When that was done the leader bade some of those with him fetch the
goods to this place, and catch some ponies ready against the
journey. I could not tell what this might mean, but I thought that
they had no intention of biding here, and I was sorry in a dull
way. It had yet been a hope that they might be tracked by my men