"Monsieur takes many liberties," said the landlord. "He smashes my windows, and fires at my guests."
Anthony saw the hostler with whom he had spoken the night before standing at the door of the barn.
"My horses," said he, "and let me have them quickly."
"First," said the landlord, and the hand was still held out, "we shall speak a few words."
"So we shall," said Anthony, as he looked at him from under frowning brows. "And they shall be very few." He struck aside the man's hand and gripped him by the shoulder. "What manner of place do you keep here, where your crony tries to murder a traveler in his bed, and you lend your ready help to have him escape?"
The Frenchman, with a heave of his powerful body, pulled himself free; there was a savage glint in his eye and a purposeful set to his jaws. He leaped at Anthony like an ape, and at once had him cleverly about the body.
"Now, my loud-crowing young gentleman, I'll show you something," said he.
There were some of the tavern's people who had gathered by this; heads were seen at windows, and each face wore a grin of derision for Anthony. Softly, creepingly, the cunning grip shifted and improved itself. From the ease of the things doing, the young man knew he was in the hands of a master of wrestling; he saw the bulging of the big thews under the Frenchman's clothes, and the swelling of his thick neck.
"In another two minutes," said a voice, "he'll not have enough breath in his body to whisper with. And a little space ago he was talking loud enough."
Anthony thought he knew this voice; he cocked an eye over the shoulder of the straining Frenchman in its direction and saw the big young man of the New York packet.