'Look.' Hugh pointed ahead. I saw what looked like a small copse of trees with firelight flickering at their side. 'A watch fire. The Armstrongs have posted men there.' He studied the fire, slowly counting. 'I see five men.'
'Can't we go round?' I asked.
In reply, he took me by the hand and helped me, quite gently from the back of my horse. He led me ten steps to the right. 'Stop there,' he said, 'and stretch out one foot.'
I did so. The mud sucked at me so fiercely I thought I might lose my boot. I withdrew quickly, with Hugh holding me.
'There is a stretch of black bog like that all the way around this damnable moss,' Hugh said, 'mile upon mile of it, except for three places, the three yetts, or gates of Tarras. This is the Black Yett, the least known of them. We can drown in the bog
