ve. One of them's against the wall. Your horse did for t'other."

The wounded man was lifted up; a huge ruffian, nearly as big as Amyas
himself. Yeo's sword had passed through his body. He groaned and choked
for breath.

"Carry him indoors. Where is the other?"

"Dead as a herring, in the straw. Have a care, men, have a care how you
go in! the horses are near mad!"

However, the man was brought out after a while. With him all was over.
They could feel neither pulse nor breath.

"Carry him in too, poor wretch. And now, Yeo, what is the meaning of all
this?"

Yeo's story was soon told. He could not get out of his Puritan head the
notion (quite unfounded, of course) that Eustace had meant to steal
the horses. He had seen the inn-keeper sneak off at their approach; and
expecting some night-attack, he had taken up his lodging for the night
in the stable.

As he expected, an attempt was made. The door was opened (how, he could
not guess, for he had fastened it inside), and two fellows came in, and
began to loose the beasts. Yeo's account was, that he seized the big
fellow, who drew a knife on him, and broke loose; the horses, terrified
at the scuffle, kicked right and left; one man fell, and the other
ran out, calling for help, with Yeo at his heels; "Whereon," said
Yeo, "seeing a dozen more on me with clubs and bows, I thought best to
shorten the number while I could, ran the rascal through, and stood on
my ward; and only just in time I was, what's more; there's two arrows in
the house wall, and two or three more in my buckler, which I caught up
as I went out, for I had hung it close by the door, you see, sir, to be
all ready in case," said the cunning old Philistine-slayer, as they went
in after the wounded man.

But hardly had they stumbled through the low doorway into the
back-kitchen when a fresh hubbub arose inside--more shouts for help.
Amyas ran forward breaking his head against the doorway, and beheld, as
soon as he could see for the flashes in his eyes, an old acquaintance,
held on each side by a sturdy sailor.

With one arm in the sleeve of his doublet, and the other in a not over
spotless shirt; holding up his hose with one hand, and with the other
a candle, whereby he had lighted himself to his own confusion; foaming
with rage, stood Mr. Evan Morgans, alias Father Parsons, looking,
between his confused habiliments and his fiery visage (as Yeo told him
to his face), "the very moral of a half-plucked tur