There were no sticks now, as Vane had said; it was an attack with nature’s weapons, but the two gipsy lads had had their tempers whetted in their encounter with Distin, and, after the first fright caused by Vane’s sudden attack, they met him furiously.
They were no mean adversaries, so long as spirit nerved them, for they were active and hard as cats, and had had a long experience in giving and taking blows. So that, full of courage and indignation as he was, Vane soon began to find that he was greatly overmatched, and, in the midst of his giving and taking, he looked about anxiously for Distin, but for some time looked in vain.
All at once, though, as he stepped back to avoid a blow he saw Distin peering round the trunk of one of the trees.
“Oh, there you are,” he panted, “come on and help me.”
Distin did not stir, and one of the gipsy lads burst into a hoarse laugh.
“Not he,” cried the lad. “Why, he give us money to leather you before.”
Distin made an angry gesture, but checked himself.
“Take that for your miserable lie,” cried Vane, and his gift was a stinging blow in the lad’s mouth, which made him shrink away, and make room for his brother, who seized the opportunity of Vane’s arm and body being extended, to strike him full in the ear, and make him lose his balance.
“’Tarn’t a lie,” cried this latter. “He did give us three shillin’ apiece to leather you.”
The lad speaking followed up his words with blows, and Vane was pretty hard set, while a conscious feeling of despair came over him on hearing of Distin’s treachery.