ng on the coarse and
wiry grass which sprang from the unfruitful soil.

The pathway was so narrow that only one of us could ride upon it at a
time, but we presently abandoned it altogether, using it simply as a
guide, and galloping along side by side over the rolling plain. We were
all silent, Reuben meditating upon his new corslet, as I could see from
his frequent glances at it; while Saxon, with his eyes half closed, was
brooding over some matter of his own. For my own part, my thoughts ran
upon the ignominy of the old soldier's designs upon the gold chest, and
the additional shame which rose from the knowledge that our host had in
some way divined his intention. No good could come of an alliance with a
man so devoid of all feelings of honour or of gratitude. So strongly did
I feel upon it that I at last broke the silence by pointing to a
cross path, which turned away from the one which we were pursuing, and
recommending him to follow it, since he had proved that he was no fit
company for honest men.

'By the living rood!' he cried, laying his hand upon the hilt of his
rapier,' have you taken leave of your senses? These are words such as no
honourable cavaliero can abide.'

'They are none the less words of truth,' I answered.

His blade flashed out in an instant, while his mare bounded twice her
length under the sharp dig of his spurs.

'We have here,' he cried, reining her round, with his fierce lean face
all of a quiver with passion, 'an excellent level stretch on which to
discuss the matter. Out with your bilbo and maintain your words.'

'I shall not stir a hair's-breadth to attack you,' I answered. 'Why
should I, when I bear you no ill-will? If you come against me, however,
I will assuredly beat you out of your saddle, for all your tricky sword
play.' I drew my broadsword as I spoke, and stood upon my guard, for I
guessed that with so old a soldier the onset would be sharp and sudden.

'By all the saints in heaven!' cried Reuben, 'which ever of ye strikes
first at the other I'll snap this pistol at his head. None of your
jokes, Don Decimo, for by the Lord I'll let drive at you if you were my
own mother's son. Put up your sword, for the trigger falls easy, and my
finger is a twitching.'

'Curse you for a spoil-sport!' growled Saxon, sulkily sheathing his
weapon. 'Nay, Clarke,' he added, after a few moments of reflection,
'this is but child's play, that two camarados with a purpose in view
should fall out o