Simon paused, listening. The voice belonged to a woman and to one in distress. Simon was no knight-errant, but he went forward quickly, catlike, so that not a twig squeaked.
He went softly round a corner of the beaten track, and found himself in sight of the brook he had heard. An overturned bucket lay across his path, and not six paces before him a serving wench was struggling wildly to be free of a great muscular fellow who had her in his arms and leered down into her frightened face.
Simon came upon him like a tornado. No sound had betrayed his approach, so that when he sprang it was like an unsuspected cannon-shot. He caught the man by the neck, and putting forward all his great strength, wrenched him staggering back. The girl gave a little glad cry and fell upon her knees with intent to kiss Simon’s hand.
“Oh, sir! Oh, my lord! Oh, sir!” she sobbed incoherently. “I came to draw water, and—and—”
Simon paid no heed to her wailing. Setting his feet squarely he awaited the other man’s rush. The fellow had fallen, but he picked himself up, purple with rage, and with a roar came upon Simon, head down, and fists doubled. Simon stepped lightly aside and delivered a crushing blow as the man passed him. The tousled head was shaken, like that of some wounded bull, and the man wheeled about and rushed on Simon yet again. This time Simon stood firm and closed with him.
To and fro they swayed on the moss carpet, arms locked tight about each other, straining and panting, and trampling the moss underfoot. Beads of sweat stood out on either forehead, teeth were clenched, and lips parted. His opponent was older and bulkier than Simon, but his muscles were not in such splendid fettle. Time after time he made a supreme effort to throw Simon, and time after time he failed. Simon’s arms seemed to grow tighter and tighter about him till the breath was almost crushed out of his body. He realised that he could not throw this fair young giant and he twisted suddenly and cunningly so that he broke away. But in so doing his jerkin was rent open across his chest, and a leathern wallet fell to the ground and bounced to Simon’s feet.
The bully lost his head, seeing it, and his eyes started in wide apprehension. A strangled cry he gave, and sprang forward to retrieve the wallet. Before he could come upon it Simon’s sixth sense, ever acute, had warned him that here was something more than a lewd fellow waylaying a serving-wench. He stepped swiftly forward, over the wallet, and braced himself for the shock of meeting. The ruffian crashed into him so that he had to fall back a step. Yet he contrived to close with the man again, and held him in a bear-like embrace.
Then began a struggle in comparison with which the former one was as nothing. Plainly Simon’s opponent was desperate, filled with a great fear lest Simon should gain possession of that wallet. He fought like one possessed, and Simon’s muscles cracked under his crushing hold. Once the man tripped over a projecting root, and fell, dragging Simon with him. For a time they rolled and struggled on the ground, breathing in great gasps, sweat pouring down their faces, each one striving to get uppermost. At last Simon had his man under, and wrenching free, sprang up and back. In a flash the fellow was on his feet, and as he rushed on Simon yet again, Simon caught the glint of steel. And seeing it, his eyes narrowed to brilliant points of anger, and his stern mouth shut tightly. He did not wait for his attacker to fall upon him, but sprang to meet him, catching him about the waist with one arm, and with his free hand gripping that treacherous dagger-arm above the wrist. So swiftly had he acted that the man had no time to stab, but was well-nigh carried backward by the weight of Simon’s leopard-spring.
Simon had pinned the fellow’s left arm to his side, nor did his hold slacken for one moment, while with his iron right hand he gripped the other arm until the bully’s mouth was awry with agony as he struggled to get away. Then Simon gave a quick turn of his wrist and the dagger fell to earth with a thud. A groan burst from the man’s lips, and as Simon released him his right arm fell useless. Despite the pain of his broken bone he was game still, remembering that precious wallet, and came charging forward, only to be met by a shattering blow upon the jaw. He flung up his unhurt arm, and reeling, fell heavily to the ground. Simon was upon him instantly, one knee upon his chest, pinning him to the ground. Again the bully groaned, and made a convulsive effort to shake Simon off. But an iron hand held him down by the throat, and, shifting his position, Simon knelt across him so that with his knees pressed to the fallen man’s sides he held him powerless. With his free hand he pulled a whistle from the neck of his tunic, and placing it between his lips, blew thrice upon it, shrilly. He glanced over his shoulder at the girl, who crouched by her bucket, hiding her face in her hands and weeping.
“Cease thy lamentations, wench!” he commanded, “and bring me the wallet that lies yonder.”
She rocked herself, wailing.
“Oh, sir! oh, sir! Have—oh, have ye slain him?”
“Nay, thou foolish child. Do as I bid thee.”
But still she crouched where she was, and would not look up. Simon’s eyes grew a little colder, and his voice a little
