Every eye was turned upon the Tojin-san. He was standing tautly erect, his heavy, pugnacious chin thrust out. As the sword of the samourai touched him he drew slightly backward, then with a swift, merciless bound sprang headlong upon his assailant, his great white fists flashing more vividly than the steel had done. Backward went the samourai, his swords flying out of either hand. Without a cry, he fell upon the grass path beneath.
And the Tojin-san was back in his place, facing them, waiting for them, calm, still unmoved, but very terrible and mighty to look upon.
In the deadly silence that followed, the student Nunuki passed the castle gates, followed by his valiant, stalwart little army of fellow-students. They moved in a line steadily onward, spread out on all sides and completely surrounded the house of the Tojin.
Ere the samourai could realize it they found themselves encircled by an army four times their own in number. Their leader lay before them, unmoving; and above them towered the grim, terrible figure of this west-countryman, who represented in his gigantic person all the power and strength they had come to know and superstitiously believe belonged to the West.
One by one, they moved toward the gates, broke into smaller groups, passing the long line of student warriors without a word or sign of war.
Presently the Tojin moved a step lower down into the garden. He stood a moment, staring frowningly at the still form lying at his feet. Then slowly, unwillingly he stooped, and turned it over. A deep breath escaped him. For a moment things swam dazedly before him, for the white, agonized face upturned was that of the Daimio’s high officer, the Samourai Gihei Matsuyama!
