But he mastered the desire, knowing that it would be fatal to success, for the gipsies were clever wrestlers, and would have the advantage, besides which, one of them could easily close and hold while the other punished him.
“I wouldn’t have believed it. I wouldn’t have believed it,” he kept on muttering as he caught sight of Distin’s pallid face again and again, while avoiding the dodges and attempts to close on the part of the gipsies.
At last, feeling that this could not go on, and weakened by his efforts, Vane determined to try, and, by a sudden rush, contrive to render one of his adversaries hors de combat, when, to his great delight, they both drew off, either for a few minutes’ rest, or to concoct some fresh mode of attack.
Whatever it might be, the respite was welcome to Vane, who took advantage of it to throw off his Norfolk jacket; but watching his adversaries the while, lest they should make a rush while he was comparatively helpless.
But they did not, and tossing the jacket aside he rapidly rolled up his sleeves, and tightened the band of his trousers, feeling refreshed and strengthened by every breath he drew.
“Now,” he said to himself as the gipsies whispered together, “let them come on.”
But they did not attack, one of them standing ready to make a rush, while the other went to the edge of the wood to reconnoitre.
“It means fighting to the last then,” thought Vane, and a shiver ran through him as he recalled his last encounter.
Perhaps it was this, and the inequality of the match which made him turn to where Distin still stood motionless.
“I say, Dis,” he cried, appealingly, “I won’t believe all they said. We’ll be friends, when it’s all over, but don’t leave me in the lurch like this.”