"Rot you," said Benjamin frankly. "When Ned comes back he'll shoot you
like vermin."

On which they both heard horses, and both, according to their
abilities--Benjamin in the mud, and Harry keeping a sure hold of
him--wriggled to look for them.

Harry laughed. It was certainly not a returning Ned. These horses came
from the other way, and there were four of them and each had a rider. "I
fear your Ned will come too late, Benjamin--if, by the grace of God, he
comes at all." So said Harry, chuckling, and to his amazement Benjamin
also laughed. Why should Benjamin find consolation in the coming of this
_posse_? It was not credible that they could be allies of his. Highwaymen
did not work in gangs of half a dozen.

The four horsemen, urged by the shots or by what they saw, came at a
gallop and reined up almost on top of Harry and Benjamin. One of them, a
little man with a lean, brown face, called out, "By your leave, sir!
What's this?"

"It's a rude fellow, sir," Harry said. "I fear a lewd fellow. By trade a
highwayman. The highway, indeed, is his life's love, his adored mistress.
Observe how he cleaves to it." He compressed Benjamin, who squelched,
into the mud, and rose, standing on Benjamin's chest and stomach.

Benjamin groaned, and the eyes behind his mask rolled towards the little
man.

"Filthy dog," that little man said with sincere disgust. "Can I serve
you, sir?" he touched his hat to the women in the coach.