'Yes, I am; and this is my van. Hands off. You have no quarrel against me. What have I done to make bread dear and keep wages low? I do not belong to these parts. Stand aside.'
She thrust her way to the back of the van where was the glass door. This had been opened, and several men had ensconced themselves inside on the benches.
Zita entered, a foil in each hand. Within it was dark, but she nevertheless knew that the interior was packed full of men.
'This is my conveyance,' she said imperiously; 'you have no more right to enter it than you have to occupy the house of the Lord Mayor. I have got a sword in each hand. I cannot see any one in the dark, but I will dagg with each hand, as you dagg for eels, and I will go on dagging till I have got a man wriggling at the end of each.'
Down went the front of the van, and out tumbled a dozen lusty men, one over another, stumbling, falling, sprawling, in the trampled snow and straw.
Zita went through the van from aft to fore, and satisfied herself that it was cleared of its human occupants. Then, standing on the platform, which had been thrown forward by those who burst away from her foils, she looked up at the roof. A score of men and youths was on it, their legs pendent.
'Down with you at once,' she said. 'Do you see these rapiers? Do you think I can't run a man through as easy as stick a needle in a pin-cushion? It's not the running in—it's the pulling out is the trouble. There's a button at the end of each blade. I have got only two—so I can pin but two of you, and that shall be the last two that leave the roof.'
She made as though about to scramble on to the top of the van, and away went the men seated there, dropping like ripe pears from a tree.
Zita leisurely reclosed the front of the van, and went out at the back and shut that door also.
'That's a good job done, Jewel,' said she. 'Now run the van backwards into the shed, and you shall return to the stable. Roman candles, Jewel—pop-bang! Roman candles at your nose.'