(for the constable would not attend, because there was no warrant), and
the parish clerk had brought his pitch-pipe, which was enough to break
any man's head. But John Fry, of course, had his blunderbuss, loaded
with tin-tacks and marbles, and more likely to kill the man who
discharged it than any other person: but we knew that John had it only
for show, and to describe its qualities.

Now it was my great desire, and my chiefest hope, to come across Carver
Doone that night, and settle the score between us; not by any shot
in the dark, but by a conflict man to man. As yet, since I came to
full-grown power, I had never met any one whom I could not play teetotum
with: but now at last I had found a man whose strength was not to be
laughed at. I could guess it in his face, I could tell it in his arms, I
could see it in his stride and gait, which more than all the rest betray
the substance of a man. And being so well used to wrestling, and to
judge antagonists, I felt that here (if anywhere) I had found my match.

Therefore I was not content to abide within the house, or go the rounds
with the troopers; but betook myself to the rick yard, knowing that the
Doones were likely to begin their onset there. For they had a pleasant
custom, when they visited farm-houses, of lighting themselves towards
picking up anything they wanted, or stabbing the inhabitants, by first
creating a blaze in the rick yard. And though our ricks were all now of
mere straw (except indeed two of prime clover-hay), and although on
the top they were so wet that no firebrands might hurt them; I was both
unwilling to have them burned, and fearful that they might kindle, if
well roused up with fire upon the windward side.

By the bye, these Doones had got the worst of this pleasant trick
one time. For happening to fire the ricks of a lonely farm called
Yeanworthy, not far above Glenthorne, they approached the house to get
people's goods, and to enjoy their terror. The master of the farm was
lately dead, and had left, inside the clock-case, loaded, the great long
gun, wherewith he had used to sport at the ducks and the geese on the
shore. Now Widow Fisher took out this gun, and not caring much what
became of her (for she had loved her husband dearly), she laid it upon
the window-sill, which looked upon the rick-yard; and she backed up the
butt with a chest of oak drawers, and she opened the window a little
back, and let the muzzle out on the slope. Presently f