"How now—how now!" cried Giles; "do ye blench before this churlish carrion? Aha! ye shall see the trees bear many such hereabouts. Get up, my qualmish, maid-like youth; he ne'er shall injure thee nor any man again—save by the nose—faugh! Rise, rise and let us be gone."
So, presently Beltane, shivering, got him to his feet and looking up, pale-faced, beheld upon the ragged breast a parchment with this legend in fair, good writing:
HE KILLED A DEER
Then spake Beltane 'twixt pallid lips:
"And do they hang men for killing deer in this country?"
"Aye, forsooth, and very properly, for, heed me, your ragged rogues be a plenty, but a stag is a noble creature and something scarcer— moreover they be the Duke's."
"By whose order was this done?"
"Why, the parchment beareth the badge of Sir Pertolepe, called the Red. But look you, Sir Innocent, no man may kill a deer unless he be of gentle blood."
"And wherefore?"
"'Tis so the law!"