Then my neck was
released, and looking up I saw my captor himself captive in the
grip of a tall man in riding cloak and high boots, while Vetch was
struggling with a short, thick-set fellow who had his arms about
the other's body.
Bullies are ever cowards at heart, and the rest of the band,
finding the tables thus turned upon them, had taken to their heels
and disappeared into the night.
"Let me go, hound!" yelled Vetch, and at the answer I started with
a thrill of pleasure.
"Let ye go! Not for all the aldermen in the country. 'Twas your
tricks drove me out of Shrewsbury, and seemingly ye're at 'em
still. You ha'nt learnt your lesson, Master Vetch; more fool you."
It was Joe Punchard's voice. If I had doubted it I should have been
assured by a word that fell from his companion.
"Haul him to the watch house, Joe. I'll bring this fellow!"
"And the bag, Captain?" says Joe.
"Give it to this long fellow," says the other, with a hard look at
me.
And I found a large bag thrust into my arms, which Joe had been
carrying and had dropped on the road at the encounter.
By this time a crowd had assembled, the good folk who had been
craning their necks at the windows having swarmed out, now that the
danger was past. And as we thronged up the street a score of voices
poured into the ears of the man Joe had called "captain" the full
tale of the Mohocks' doings.
I walked among them, shouldering the bag. I perceived that Joe had
not recognized me, which was not to be wondered at, seeing that
when he last saw me I was a pale slip of a boy, whereas now I was a
tall brawny youth with cheeks the color of a ripe russet.
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