ey might have bettered you."

"Good reasons, Martin. How did you do it? I couldn't see much."

"It is a trick I learned up there in Friesland. Some of the Northmen
sailors taught it me. There is a place in a man's neck, here at the
back, and if he is squeezed there he loses his senses in a second. Thus,
master--" and putting out his great hand he gripped Foy's neck in a
fashion that caused him the intensest agony.

"Drop it," said Foy, kicking at his shins.

"I didn't squeeze; I was only showing you," answered Martin, opening his
eyes. "Well, when their wits were gone of course it was easy to knock
their heads together, so that they mightn't find them again. You see,"
he added, "if I had left them alive--well, they are dead anyway, and
getting a hot supper by now, I expect. Which shall it be, master? Dutch
stick or Spanish point?"

"Stick first, then point," answered Foy.

"Good. We need 'em both nowadays," and Martin reached down a pair of ash
plants fitted into old sword hilts to protect the hands of the players.

They stood up to each other on guard, and then against the light of
the lanterns it could be seen how huge a man was Martin. Foy, although
well-built and sturdy, and like all his race of a stout habit, looked
but a child beside the bulk of this great fellow. As for their stick
game, which was in fact sword exercise, it is unnecessary to follow its
details, for the end of it was what might almost have been expected. Foy
sprang to and fro slashing and cutting, while Martin the solid scarcely
moved his weapon. Then suddenly there would be a parry and a reach,
and the stick would fall with a thud all down the length of Foy's back,
causing the dust to start from his leathern jerkin.

"It's no good," said Foy at last, rubbing himself ruefully. "What's
the use of guarding against you, you great brute, when you simply crash
through my guard and hit me all the same? That isn't science."

"No, master," answered Martin, "but it is business. If we had been using
swords you would have been in pieces by now. No blame to you and no
credit to me; my reach is longer and my arm heavier, that is all."

"At any rate I am beaten," said Foy; "now take the rapiers and give me a
chance."

Then they went at it with the thrusting-swords, rendered harmless by a
disc of lead upon their points, and at this game the luck turned. Foy
was active as a cat in the eye of a hawk, and twice he managed to get in
under Martin's guard.