So I loosed him and, standing back, saw beyond the door a throng of pale, fearful faces, that parted suddenly to make way for a short, squat man who carried a blunderbuss. Anthony saw him too, for in a moment he was up and, thrusting hand into his bosom, drew thence a small pistol.
"Put down that blunderbuss!" he commanded; whereupon, after a momentary hesitation, the squat fellow stepped forward and laid it sulkily upon the table. "Here, Peregrine," said Anthony, "take this pistol and keep 'em quiet while I walk on this scoundrel a little!" Unwillingly enough, I took the weapon, while Anthony forthwith stood upon his prostrate antagonist and proceeded very deliberately to wipe his villainous-looking boots upon the gentleman's fine blue spencer; this done, he stepped down and beckoned the squat man to approach, who came in, though very unwillingly, and closely followed by the ostler and postillion.
"'Ave ye killed the pore soul?" questioned the squat fellow, eyeing the prostrate man very much askance.
"Alas, no—so I will ask you and these good fellows to carry him out and lay him in the horse-trough—"
"'Orse-trough?" exclaimed the landlord.
"Horse-trough!" nodded Anthony.
"Not us!" answered the landlord.
"Think again!" said Anthony, taking up the blunderbuss.
"Ye mean t' say—" began the landlord.
"Horse-trough!" said Anthony, levelling the ungainly weapon.