The company guffawed at this, the monster’s solitary sally of wit.
“You are a liar by the fact that you live,” said Rust. “Bah, you disgust me with the thought of having the duties, which you have so patently and outrageously neglected, thrust upon me. Begone. There’s no fire to roast a barbecue, if I should be minded to spit you!”
The creature looked again at his fellows, who had obviously egged him on.
“He insults you right prettily, good Gallows,” said the dandy, who was himself a rascal banished from his own country. “But he dare not fight you, we can see it plainly.”
“With you thrown in, I dare say there might be a moment’s sport in a most unsavory blood-letting,” said Rust, whose hand went to his sword-hilt calmly. “I should want some fresh air if I stuck either one of you carrion-fed buzzards.”
Gallows knew by this that it was time to draw his blade. “You be a fool and I be the fool-killer,” he roared as before, this being his best hold on language to suit the occasion. Only now he came for Adam like a butcher.
“Outside—go outside, gentlemen!” cried the landlord excitedly.
“Go outside!” said the voice of some one who was not visible. It was Randolph, concealed in the adjoining room and watching the proceedings through a narrow crack, where he had opened the door.
“Go on out, and I’ll fight you!” bellowed Gallows.
“After you,” said Rust, whose blade was out and being swiftly passed under his exacting eye. “Go out first. You will need one more breath than I.”