“But what if there were four of them?”

“They should drink of the same cup,” answered the Knight.

“What if six,” continued Wamba, “and we as we now are, barely two⁠—would you not remember Locksley’s horn?”

“What! sound for aid,” exclaimed the Knight, “against a score of such rascaille as these, whom one good knight could drive before him, as the wind drives the withered leaves?”

“Nay, then,” said Wamba, “I will pray you for a close sight of that same horn that hath so powerful a breath.”

The Knight undid the clasp of the baldric, and indulged his fellow-traveller, who immediately hung the bugle round his own neck.

“Tra-lira-la,” said he, whistling the notes; “nay, I know my gamut as well as another.”