"From what I already see," said the smith, "he may easily come by
such a boon. Yonder fellow, who stops so impudently to look at us,
as if he were engaged in the most lawful sport in the world--I
guess him, by his trotting hobbler, his rusty head piece with the
cock's feather, and long two handed sword, to be the follower of
some of the southland lords--men who live so near the Southron,
that the black jack is never off their backs, and who are as free
of their blows as they are light in their fingers."

Whilst they were thus speculating on the issue of the rencounter
the valiant bonnet maker began to pull up Jezabel, in order that
the smith, who he still concluded was close behind, might overtake
him, and either advance first or at least abreast of himself. But
when he saw him at a hundred yards distance, standing composedly
with the rest of the group, the flesh of the champion, like that
of the old Spanish general, began to tremble, in anticipation of
the dangers into which his own venturous spirit was about to involve
it. Yet the consciousness of being countenanced by the neighbourhood
of so many friends, the hopes that the appearance of such odds
must intimidate the single intruder, and the shame of abandoning
an enterprise in which he had volunteered, and when so many persons
must witness his disgrace, surmounted the strong inclination which
prompted him to wheel Jezabel to the right about, and return to
the friends whose protection he had quitted, as fast as her legs
could carry them. He accordingly continued his direction towards
the stranger, who increased his alarm considerably by putting his
little nag in motion, and riding to meet him at a brisk trot. On
observing this apparently offensive movement, our hero looked over
his left shoulder more than once, as if reconnoitring the ground