With a wild laugh the man glowered down upon him motionless as Blair himself, then, with a spring, threw himself upon him.
Blair squared his shoulders to meet the shock, but Pyke, though lean, was tall, and his long form, aided by the impetus of his leap, bore Blair to the ground.
There was a terrible struggle, at which the frightened horse stood looking as if it were a horrified human being; then Pyke got his fingers round Blair's throat, and, pressing against it, shook him heavily.
"At last!" he shouted, between a hiss and a growl. "At last, mister! I've waited a long time, but it's my turn now, I think. You fine-tongued gentleman! I'll—I'll kill you. You thought I'd forgotten you, eh? You thought I was going to let you go scot free, did you? Ah! you'll know me better when I've done with you."
Blair struggled as hard as he could, but the man's long, bony fingers were like steel, and, with a shrug of his shoulders, he felt that his time had come. But even at that moment the old spirit came to the front, and, though he could not speak, he smiled up at the livid face of his assailant.
The smile seemed to madden the man.
"What! you grin, do ye?" he said, between his teeth. "I'll teach you! I'll humble you!" Then an idea seemed to strike him, and, kneeling on Blair's chest, he said, "But I'll give you a chance, my lord, even now, curse me if I don't. Say, 'I beg your pardon,' and I'll let you go."
With the intention of giving Blair an opportunity for the apology, his grasp slackened slightly.
It was a small opening, but Blair seized it.