"
The Company stood peering into the dense fog-wreath, amidst a
silence so profound that the dripping of the water from the rocks
and the breathing of the horses grew loud upon the ear. Suddenly
from out the sea of mist came the shrill sound of a neigh,
followed by a long blast upon a bugle.
"It is a Spanish call, my fair lord," said Black Simon. "It is
used by their prickers and huntsmen when the beast hath not fled,
but is still in its lair."
"By my faith!" said Sir Nigel, smiling, "if they are in a humor
for venerie we may promise them some sport ere they sound the
mort over us. But there is a hill in the centre of the gorge on
which we might take our stand."
"I marked it yester-night," said Felton, "and no better spot
could be found for our purpose, for it is very steep at the back.
It is but a bow-shot to the left, and, indeed, I can see the
shadow of it."
The whole Company, leading their horses, passed across to the
small hill which loomed in front of them out of the mist. It was
indeed admirably designed for defence, for it sloped down in
front, all jagged and boulder-strewn, while it fell away in a
sheer cliff of a hundred feet or more.
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