"Let's meet them here," shouted Stoddard.

Morgan was coming up with a club in his hand, making

directly for me, two men at his heels, and the rest

veering off toward the wall of St. Agatha's.

"Watch the house," I yelled to the chaplain; and

then, on the edge of the wood Morgan came at me furiously,

swinging his club over his head, and in a moment

we were fencing away at a merry rate. We both had

revolvers strapped to our waists, but I had no intention

of drawing mine unless in extremity. At my right

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Stoddard was busy keeping off Morgan's personal

guard, who seemed reluctant to close with the clergyman.

I have been, in my day, something of a fencer, and

my knowledge of the foils stood me in good stead now.

With a tremendous thwack I knocked Morgan's club

flying over the snow, and, as we grappled, Bates yelled

from the house. I quickly found that Morgan's wounded

arm was still tender. He flinched at the first grapple,

and his anger got the better of his judgment. We

kicked up the snow at a great rate as we feinted and

dragged each other about. He caught hold of my belt

with one hand and with a great wrench nearly dragged

me from my feet, but I pinioned his arms and bent

him backward, then, by a trick Larry had taught me,

flung him upon his side. It is not, I confess, a pretty

business, matching your brute strength against that of

a fellow man, and as I cast myself upon him and felt

his hard-blown breath on my face, I hated myself more

than I hated him for engaging in so ignoble a contest.

Bates continued to call from the house.

"Come on at any cost," shouted Stoddard, putting

himself between me and the men who were flying to

Morgan's aid.

I sprang away from my adversary, snatching his revolver,

and ran toward the house, Stoddard close behind,

but keeping himself well between me and the men who

were now after us in full cry.

"Shoot, you fools, shoot!" howled Morgan, and as we

reached the open meadow and ran for the house a shot-gun

roared back of us and buckshot snapped and rattled

on the stone of the water tower.

"There's the sheriff," called Stoddard behind me.

The officer of the law and his deputy ran into the

park from the gate of St. Agatha's, while the rest of

Morgan's party were skirting the wall to join them.

"Stop or I'll shoot," yelled Morgan, and I felt Stoddard

pause in his gigantic stride to throw himself between

me and the pursuers.

"Sprint for it hot," he called very coolly, as though

he were coaching me in a contest of the most amiable

sort imaginable.

"Get away from those guns," I panted, angered by

the very generosity of his defense.




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