But Jeffrey was a woodman born, and from his childhood had known the shape of every tree in that waste, so that they held safely to their road.

Well would it have been for them if they had not! They came to a place where three other tracks crossed that which they rode upon, and here Jeffrey Stokes, who was ahead, held up his hand.
"What is it ?" asked Sir John.
"It is the marks of ten or a dozen shod horses passed within two hours, since the last snow fell.

And who be they, I wonder ?" "Doubtless travellers like ourselves.

Ride on, man; that farm is not a mile ahead." Then Jeffrey broke out.
"Master, I like it not," he said.

"Battle-horses have gone by here, not chapmen's or farmers' nags, and I think I know their breed.