"I am, worthy sir," replied a short, stout man with heavy, beetling brows, who stood his ground doggedly. "And who are you, sirrah?" demanded Felgate, giving him a fierce look that cowed him for the time. "And where is your warrant for this deed?" "By virtue of the act passed in the reign of His Majesty King James the First, of blessed memory, concerning the punishment of sorcerers, witches, warlocks, and the like." "Tut, tut, man, the statute is dead! Have you a magistrate’s warrant, Form 226, giving you authority for this? Quick, answer me! I am a King’s officer, so on your peril speak truly!" The man shook his head. "Then let her go free!" Here the mob redoubled its cries, and a few missiles came hurtling through the air towards us. "Draw, comrades, draw!" shouted Felgate, and, unsheathing our swords, we urged our horses through the crowd till we reined up abreast of our chivalrous friend. "Would ye have ’em take a witch out of your hands?" cried the officious man, appealing to the crowd. "No! No! Down with them, and death to the witch!" came like a hoarse roar from the excited crowd. "Ay, ay, down with them!" repeated their incautious leader, seizing Felgate’s horse by the bridle and attempting to force it on its haunches. His ill-advised action soon earned its reward, for Felgate struck him a heavy blow with the hilt of his sword, then, clutching at him as he fell, he backed his horse through the crowd till he reached the edge of the pond. Then with a mighty effort he flung the man into the slimy water, where he fell with a heavy splash. A moment later he reappeared, clambered to the bank, and made his way towards the village, cursing us at the top of his voice. But the danger was not yet over, for the mob showed signs of a combined and active resistance. Fortunately we were together by the side of the pool, so that none of our attackers could get behind us. "Draw your pistols and fire at the first man who steps forward!" said Felgate, loud enough for all to hear him. At the sight of six levelled weapons the crowd drew back; then, satisfied that the cowards were properly cowed, Felgate jumped from his horse, made his way to the ducking stool, and cut the bonds that held the old crone to the chair. Baulked of their prey, the mob still surged round us, and with a shout of: "Let ’em have the cat!" a great black object was sent flying towards us, and, striking my horse on the crupper, resolved itself into an enormous black cat, that spat and howled, digging its claws into the horse’s hide, and arching its back like the demon cat that is the reputed companion of every witch. A word from the old woman caused the animal to jump towards her, and, climbing on her shoulders, it mewed and purred with a fearsome delight.