"Let's meet them here," shouted Stoddard.
Morgan was coming up with a club in his hand, making
directly for me, two men at his heels, and the rest
veering off toward the wall of St. Agatha's.
"Watch the house," I yelled to the chaplain; and
then, on the edge of the wood Morgan came at me furiously,
swinging his club over his head, and in a moment
we were fencing away at a merry rate. We both had
revolvers strapped to our waists, but I had no intention
of drawing mine unless in extremity. At my right
Stoddard was busy keeping off Morgan's personal
guard, who seemed reluctant to close with the clergyman.
I have been, in my day, something of a fencer, and
my knowledge of the foils stood me in good stead now.
With a tremendous thwack I knocked Morgan's club
flying over the snow, and, as we grappled, Bates yelled
from the house. I quickly found that Morgan's wounded
arm was still tender. He flinched at the first grapple,
and his anger got the better of his judgment. We
kicked up the snow at a great rate as we feinted and
dragged each other about. He caught hold of my belt
with one hand and with a great wrench nearly dragged
me from my feet, but I pinioned his arms and bent
him backward, then, by a trick Larry had taught me,
flung him upon his side. It is not, I confess, a pretty
business, matching your brute strength against that of
a fellow man, and as I cast myself upon him and felt
his hard-blown breath on my face, I hated myself more
than I hated him for engaging in so ignoble a contest.
Bates continued to call from the house.
"Come on at any cost," shouted Stoddard, putting
himself between me and the men who were flying to
Morgan's aid.
I sprang away from my adversary, snatching his revolver,
and ran toward the house, Stoddard close behind,
but keeping himself well between me and the men who
were now after us in full cry.
"Shoot, you fools, shoot!" howled Morgan, and as we
reached the open meadow and ran for the house a shot-gun
roared back of us and buckshot snapped and rattled
on the stone of the water tower.
"There's the sheriff," called Stoddard behind me.
The officer of the law and his deputy ran into the
park from the gate of St. Agatha's, while the rest of
Morgan's party were skirting the wall to join them.
"Stop or I'll shoot," yelled Morgan, and I felt Stoddard
pause in his gigantic stride to throw himself between
me and the pursuers.
"Sprint for it hot," he called very coolly, as though
he were coaching me in a contest of the most amiable
sort imaginable.
"Get away from those guns," I panted, angered by
the very generosity of his defense.