Tom lay along the horse's back, now on this side, now on that, dodging, swaying, manoeuvring, in a fashion which showed marvellous horsemanship, and all the while listening eagerly for the sound of Wildgoose's following steps.
But he heard nothing.

The silence of the forest was unbroken save for the noise he made himself.

It became plain at last that he was alone.

Robin and Wildgoose had either lost his track, or had not followed him.
And a sudden doubt surged into Tom's brain as to whether or not Robin had betrayed him to the footpads.

Was it not Robin who had connived at all the halts upon the way in the morning, Robin who had advised pushing on, and had undertaken to find the way by day or night?
Robin was a son of the forest himself.