same they did not escape punishment, as their faces showed, Vane in his desperation ignoring the sticks and charging home with pretty good effect again and again.
“It’s no good; I shall be beaten,” he thought as he now protected himself as well as he could by the shelter afforded by the tree he had chosen, though poor protection it was, for first one and then the other boy would dart in feinting with his stick and playing into the other’s hand and giving him an opportunity to deliver a blow. “I shall have to give in, and the young savages will almost kill me.”
And all this time he was flinching, dodging and shrinking here and there, and growing so much exhausted that his breath came thick and fast.
“Oh, if I only had a stick!” he panted, as he avoided a blow on one side to receive one on the other; and this made him rush savagely at one of the lads; but he had to draw back, smarting from a sharp blow across the left arm, right above the elbow, and one which half numbed the member.
But though he cast longing eyes round, there was no sticks save those carried by the boys, who, with flashing eyes, kept on darting in and aiming wherever they could get a chance. There was one fact, however, which Vane noticed, and which gave him a trifle of hope just when he was most despairing: his adversaries never once struck at his head, contenting themselves by belabouring his arms, back and legs, which promised to be rendered quite useless if the fight went on.
And all the time neither of the gipsy lads spoke a word, but kept on leaping about him, making short runs, and avoiding his blows in a way that was rapidly wearing him out.
Should he turn and run? No, he thought; they would run over the ground more swiftly than he, and perhaps get him down.
Then he thought of crying for help, but refrained, for he felt how distant they were from everyone, and that if he cried aloud he would only be expending his breath.
And lastly, the idea came again that he had better offer the lads all he had about him. But hardly had the thought crossed his brain, than a more vicious blow than usual drove it away, and he rushed from the shelter of the tree-trunk at the boy who delivered that blow. In trying to avoid Vane’s fist, he caught his heel, staggered back, and in an instant his stick was wrested from his hand, whistled through the air, and came down with a sounding crack, while what one not looking on might have taken to be an echo of the blow sounded among the trees.
But it was not an echo, only the real thing, the second boy having rushed to his brother’s help, and struck at Vane’s shoulder, bringing him fiercely round to attack in turn, stick-armed now, and on equal terms. For Vane’s blow had fallen on the first boy’s head, and he went down half-stunned and bleeding, to turn over and then begin rapidly crawling away on hands and knees.