Mark sheathed his weapon, and Ralph did the same.
“Now then,” said the former, “how many men could you get together?”
“Nick Garth, Ram Jennings, and six more.”
“Eight,” said Mark, flushing proudly. “I could get Dan Rugg, Dummy Rugg—he’s only a lad, but he’s stronger than I am. Oh yes: and fourteen more at least.”
“That would not be fair. If you agreed to come and attack the men at Ergles, you would have to bring eight. But could you get swords and pikes for them?”
“Oh yes—for five times as many. How about yours?”
“We’ve plenty of arms. They’re old, but very sharp and good.”
“And could you depend on your fellows to fight?” said Mark.
“Oh yes,” said Ralph, smiling; “they hate these people, and they’d rush at them like dogs would at wolves.”
“So would ours,” cried Mark. “There isn’t one of our men who hasn’t had some relative or friend attacked and ill-used or robbed.”