"Keep back, rascal!" shouted George. "Keep from the door, or I'll put
a few peppercorns into your hide."

From a chink in the door George recognized him as the very man he had
so unceremoniously knocked from his perch and so merrily battered in
the bout of singlestick that day on the landing-stage.

The fellow answered with a curse and lifted his axe to stave in the
door. Before the weapon could descend a report rang out in the
twilight, and with a scream the attacker sprang from the ground, and
then fell to rubbing his legs vigorously.

"One on 'em peppered," remarked old Saunders grimly.

The crowd outside fell back in haste, and a burly fellow at that
instant appearing on the scene with a small cask of ale on his
shoulder, a diversion was caused. The fight was transferred to the
circle round the ale barrel, the already half-crazy fellows struggling
desperately to get at the liquor.

"By Jupiter!" cried George, seeing his opportunity in a moment, "now
is our chance! Let them get fully occupied and we have them. Let them
once return and they will be madder and more reckless than ever."

And seizing every man his weapon, the little party in the shed
prepared to sally forth, old Saunders whispering to his next
neighbour, "The lad is a game 'un, if ever I saw one."

Just as George was preparing to draw the bolts he caught sight of