“What the devil is the matter? Hello!... Keep off, I tell you! Are you mad?”
“Come off and fight.”
“By God, I’ll break your head in if you don’t let go.... You idiot!”—as the mare plunged and tore the stirrup-leather from Taffy’s grip—“She’ll brain you, if you fool round her heels like that!”
“Come off, then.”
“Very well.” George backed a little, swung himself out of the saddle and faced him on the beach. “Now perhaps you’ll explain.”
“You’ve come from the headland?”
“Well?”
“From Lizzie Pezzack’s.”
“Well, and what then?”
“Only this, that so sure as you’ve a wife at home, if you come to the headland again I’ll kill you; and if you’re a man, you’ll put up your fists now.”