ed leader.

In the little room, but two could engage him at once, but so fiercely
did his blade swing and so surely did he thrust that, in a bare moment,
The Black Wolf lay dead upon the floor and the red giant, Shandy, was
badly, though not fatally wounded. The four remaining ruffians backed
quickly from the hut, and a more cautious fighter would have let them
go their way in peace, for in the open, four against one are odds no man
may pit himself against with impunity. But Norman of Torn saw red when
he fought and the red lured him ever on into the thickest of the fray.
Only once before had he fought to the death, but that once had taught
him the love of it, and ever after until his death, it marked his manner
of fighting; so that men who loathed and hated and feared him were as
one with those who loved him in acknowledging that never before had God
joined in the human frame absolute supremacy with the sword and such
utter fearlessness.

So it was, now, that instead of being satisfied with his victory, he
rushed out after the four knaves. Once in the open, they turned upon
him, but he sprang into their midst with his seething blade, and it was
as though they faced four men rather than one, so quickly did he parry
a thrust here and return a cut there. In a moment one was disarmed,
another down, and the remaining two fleeing for their lives toward the
high road with Norman of Torn close at their heels.

Young, agile and perfect in health, he outclassed them in running as
well as in swordsmanship, and ere they had made fifty paces, both had
thrown away their swords and were on their knees pleading for their
lives.

"Come back to the good priest's hut, and we shall see what he may say,"
replied Norman of Torn.

On the way back, they found the man who had been disarmed bending over
his wounded comrade. They were brothers, named Flory, and one would not
desert the other. It was evident that the wounded man was in no danger,
so Norman of Torn ordered the others to assist him into the hut, where
they found Red Shandy sitting propped against the wall while the good
father poured the contents of a flagon down his eager throat.

The villain's eyes fairly popped from his head when he saw his four
comrades coming, unarmed and prisoners, back to the little room.

"The Black Wolf dead, Red Shandy and John Flory wounded, James Flory,
One Eye Kanty and Peter the Hermit prisoners!" he ejaculated.

"Man or devil! By the Pope's