disappeared round the hut quietly and swiftly, like a mouse when a cat
is in sight. Gilbert made straight for his horses, followed by Dunstan
and the groom; but before he could reach them, two of the riders had
jumped the ditch from the road and intercepted him, while the others
rode on toward the shed to carry off his horses. His sword was out in a
flash, his men were beside him, their weapons in their hands, and the
grimy riders drew theirs also; it was like a little storm of steel in
the bright air. The Englishman's long blade whirled half a circle above
his head; the blow would beat down the horseman's guard and draw blood,
too.

But in mid-air his wrist was seized in the sudden grasp of sinewy
fingers, and the friar was already between him and his adversary,
warning the other off with his outstretched hand. The loose sleeve had
slipped back from his wrist, baring a brown, emaciated arm and elbow
upon which the swollen veins seemed to twist and climb like leafless
vines upon a withered tree. His lips were white, his eyes blazed, and
his voice was suddenly harsh and commanding.

"Back!" he cried, almost savagely.

To Gilbert's very great astonishment, the single word produced an
instantaneous and wonderful effect. The riders lowered their weapons,
looked at one another, and then sheathed them; the others, who were
loosing Gilbert's horses and mules, suddenly desisted at the sound of
the friar's voice. Then the one nearest to Gilbert, who was a shade
less grimy than the rest, and who wore in his cap a feather from a
pheasant's tail, slipped to the ground, and bending low under his
tattered brown cloak, took the hem of the monk's frock in his right
hand and kissed it fervently. Gilbert stood aside, leaning upon his