‘Well, if that doesn’t beat all!’ said the fellow.

‘I don’t think he’s chaffing now,’ said the girl, whose anger seemed to have subsided on a sudden; ‘the young man speaks civil enough.’

‘Civil!’ said the fellow, with an oath; ’but that’s just like you; with you it is a blow, and all over.  Civil!  I suppose you would have him stay here, and get into all my secrets, and hear all I may have to say to my two morts.’

‘Two morts!’ said the girl, kindling up, ’where are they?  Speak for one, and no more.  I am no mort of yours, whatever some one else may be.  I tell you one thing, Black John, or Anselo,—­for t’other ain’t your name,—­the same thing I told the young man here, be civil, or you will rue it.’

The fellow looked at the girl furiously, but his glance soon quailed before hers; he withdrew his eyes, and cast them on my little horse, which was feeding amongst the trees.  ‘What’s this?’ said he, rushing forward and seizing the animal.  ’Why, as I am alive, this is the horse of that mumping villain Slingsby.’

‘It’s his no longer; I bought it and paid for it.’

‘It’s mine now,’ said the fellow; ’I swore I would seize it the next time I found it on my beat; ay, and beat the master too.’

‘I am not Slingsby.’

‘All’s one for that.’

‘You don’t say you will beat me?’

‘Afraid was the word.’

‘I’m sick and feeble.’

‘Hold up your fists.’

‘Won’t the horse satisfy you?’

‘Horse nor bellows either.’

‘No mercy, then?’

‘Here’s at you.’

‘Mind your eyes, Jack.  There, you’ve got it.  I thought so,’ shouted the girl, as the fellow staggered back from a sharp blow in the eye; ’I thought he was chaffing at you all along.’

‘Never mind, Anselo.  You know what to do—­go in,’ said the vulgar woman, who had hitherto not spoken a word, but who now came forward with all the look of a fury; ‘go inapopli; you’ll smash ten like he.’

The Flaming Tinman took her advice, and came in bent on smashing, but stopped short on receiving a left-handed blow on the nose.

‘You’ll never beat the Flaming Tinman in that way,’ said the girl, looking at me doubtfully.

And so I began to think myself, when, in the twinkling of an eye, the Flaming Tinman, disengaging himself of his frock-coat, and dashing off his red night-cap, came rushing in more desperately than ever.  To a flush hit which he received in the mouth he paid as little attention as a wild bull would have done; in a moment his arms were around me, and in another he had hurled me down, falling heavily upon me.  The fellow’s strength appeared to be tremendous.

‘Pay him off now,’ said the vulgar woman.  The Flaming Tinman made no reply, but, planting his knee on my breast, seized my throat with two huge horny hands.  I gave myself up for dead, and probably should have been so in another minute but for the tall girl, who caught hold of the handkerchief which the fellow wore round his neck, with a grasp nearly as powerful us that with which he pressed my throat.