After they had passed by, Cale continued his way quietly enough, following the noisy party at a safe distance, as they too seemed bound towards Snowe Hill.
They were approaching the top of the hill when a sudden sound of shrieking met their ears, mixed with the loud laughter and half-drunken shouts of the roisterers.

Tom caught his companion's arm and pulled him along.
"That is a woman's voice!" he cried quickly.

"She is crying for help.

Come!" "Beshrew me if I ever again walk abroad with a peruke at night!" grumbled Cale, as he let himself be hurried along by the eager Tom.
"I am not a watchman.

Why should I risk my goods for every silly wench who should know better than to be abroad of a night alone?
Come, come, my young friend, my legs are not as long as yours; I shall have no wind for fighting if you drag me along at this pace!" It was the urgency of the cries that spurred Tom to the top of his speed.