h punishment, for sure. Come to me, men, here, here!" He raised his
voice still louder. "A Montfichet! A Montfichet!" he called; and the
Gamewell men who had answered to his first whistling, now lustily threw
themselves upon the back of the mob.

Instantly all was uproar and confusion, worse than when they first had
been startled from the wizard's tent. The Nottingham apprentices struck
out savagely with their sticks, hitting friend and foe alike. The
burgesses and citizens were not slow to return these blows, and a fierce
battle was commenced.

The strollers took their part in it with hearty zest now that they had
some chance of beating off their foes. Robin and the little tumbler
between them tried to force the Squire to stand back, and very valiantly
did these two comport themselves.

The head and chief of the riot, the Nottingham apprentice, with clenched
fists, threatened Montfichet. Robin and the little stroller sprang upon
the wretch and bore him to the ground. The three rolled over and over
each other, punching and pummelling when and where they might. Robin at
last got fairly upon the back of their enemy and clung desperately to
him; whilst the stroller essayed to tie the man's hands with his own
garters.

The riot increased, for all were fighting now in two great parties;
townsfolk against apprentices. The din and shouting were appalling.
Robin and the little tumbler between them rolled their captive into the
wizard's tent.

The Squire helped to thrust them all in and entered swiftly himself.
Then he pulled down the flap of canvas, hoping that thus they might not
be espied. "Now, be silent, on your lives," he began; but the captured
apprentice set up an instant shout.

"Silence, you knave!" cried Montfichet. "Stifle him, Robin, if need be;
take his cloth." He felt for and found the wizard's black cloth.

The Squire was quite out of breath. "Where is our wizard friend?" he
went on, peering about in the semi-darkness. "Most gentle conjurer, we
wish your aid."

But Master Will had beaten a prudent retreat through the back of the
tent. The canvas was ripped open, letting in a streak of light. They
left their prisoner upon the ground, and cautiously drew near the rift.

The noise without showed no abatement. The fighting was nearer to the
tent, and the bodies of the combatants bumped ever and anon heavily
against the yielding canvas.

"They will pull down the place about our heads," muttered the Squire.