Glancing down over his shoulder, Stephen saw that the officer had dropped his axe and was levelling his great, clumsy horse-pistol.
“When I say ‘three,’” called the angry soldier, “I will fire, unless you have begun to descend. One—”
Stephen glanced about him desperately. He had been almost certain that the man would not harm him, but now he was none too sure. It was a fair, wide world that he was looking out upon, one that he should hate to leave so abruptly.
“Two!” bellowed the Sergeant, his voice growing louder as his rage increased.
“Stephen, Stephen!” Mistress Alisoun’s voice, anxious and troubled, sounded directly below him.
“Mother,” he called wildly, “do not order me to come down, for I cannot and will not.” But Stephen had misjudged his mother.
“Hold fast, boy,” she answered. “I will deal with this fellow here. He has no notion of hurting you, for though he pretends to aim his pistol, he has also shut his eyes.”
She stepped forward, and with a quick, determined movement, struck up the Sergeant’s hand just as he was shouting:
“Three!”
Stephen ducked his head and screwed up his eyes, but no report came. Looking down, he saw that the soldier had taken out both his pistols and with a great, low bow was presenting them to Mistress Alisoun.