"Yes, he'd better get out of it," said one or two.

But the young chap in question turned on them with a flash of his white
teeth. "Don't you worry yourselves!" he said. "If he wants to
fight--let him!"

They muttered uneasily in answer. It was plain that Samson's
bull-strength was no allegory to them. But the boy's confidence
remained quite unimpaired. He faced his adversary with the lust of
battle in his eyes.

"Come on, you slacker!" he said. "I like a good fight. Don't keep
me waiting!"

The bystanders began to laugh, and the man they called Samson turned
purple with rage. He flung round furiously. "There's a yard at the back,"
he cried. "We'll settle it there. I'll teach you to use your spurs on me,
my young game-cock!"

"Come on then!" said the stranger. "P'r'aps I shall teach you something
too! You'll probably be killed, as I said before; but if you'll take the
risk I have no objection."

Again the onlookers raised a laugh. They pressed round to see the face of
the English boy who was so supremely unafraid. It was a very handsome
face, but it was not wholly English. The eyes were too dark and too
passionate, the straight brows too black, the features too finely
regular. The mouth was mobile, and wayward as a woman's, but the chin
might have been modelled in stone--a fighting chin, aggressive,