It would have been hard that
night, through the whole length of England, to set up a finer
pair in face of each other.
Big John stood waiting in the centre with a sullen, menacing eye,
and his red hair in a bristle, while the archer paced lightly and
swiftly to the right and the left with crooked knee and hands
advanced. Then with a sudden dash, so swift and fierce that the
eye could scarce follow it, he flew in upon his man and locked
his leg round him. It was a grip that, between men of equal
strength, would mean a fall; but Hordle John tore him off from
him as he might a rat, and hurled him across the room, so that
his head cracked up against the wooden wall.
"Ma foi!" cried the bowman, passing his fingers through his
curls, "you were not far from the feather-bed then, mon gar. A
little more and this good hostel would have a new window."
Nothing daunted, he approached his man once more, but this time
with more caution than before. With a quick feint he threw the
other off his guard, and then, bounding upon him, threw his legs
round his waist and his arms round his bull-neck, in the hope of
bearing him to the ground with the sudden shock.
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