red-faced man with enormous
whiskers, kicking madly in the air and clawing at rafters, hams, and
all else that was within hand-grasp. The huge steel hook had been passed
through the collar of his leather jerkin, and there he hung like a fish
on a line, writhing, twisting, and screaming, but utterly unable to free
himself from his extraordinary position. It was not until Alleyne and
the landlord had mounted on the table that they were able to lift him
down, when he sank gasping with rage into a seat, and rolled his eyes
round in every direction.

"Has he gone?" quoth he.

"Gone? Who?"

"He, the man with the red head, the giant man."

"Yes," said Alleyne, "he hath gone."

"And comes not back?"

"No."

"The better for him!" cried the little man, with a long sigh of relief.
"Mon Dieu! What! am I not the champion of the Bishop of Montaubon? Ah,
could I have descended, could I have come down, ere he fled! Then you
would have seen. You would have beheld a spectacle then. There would
have been one rascal the less upon earth. Ma, foi, yes!"

"Good master Pelligny," said the landlord, "these gentlemen have not
gone very fast, and I have a horse in the stable at your disposal, for
I would rather have such bloody doings as you threaten outside the four
walls of mine auberge."

"I hurt my leg and cannot ride," quoth the bishop's champion. "I
strained a sinew on the day that I slew the three men at Castelnau."

"God save you, master Pelligny!" cried the landlord. "It must be an
awesome thing to have so much blood upon one's soul. And yet I do not
wish to see so valiant a man mishandled, and so I will, for friendship's
sake, ride after this Englishman and bring him back to you."

"You shall not stir," cried the champion, seizing the inn-keeper in a
convulsive grasp. "I have a love for you, Gaston, and I would not
bring your house into ill repute, nor do such scath to these walls and
chattels as must befall if two such men as this Englishman and I fall to
work here."

"Nay, think not of me!" cried the inn-keeper. "What are my walls when
set against the honor of Francois Poursuivant d'Amour Pelligny, champion
of the Bishop of Montaubon. My horse, Andre!"

"By the saints, no! Gaston, I will not have it! You have said truly that
it is an awesome thing to have such rough work upon one's soul. I am
but a rude soldier, yet I have a mind. Mon Dieu! I reflect, I weigh, I
balance. Shall I not meet this man again? Shall I not b