"I will. Speak up, Strangeways." Joe shifted under his enemy's steady gaze. Then, with his eyes on the ground, he repeated his story. Every one watched Griff's face. "Well," said Jefferson, "what have ye to say to yon?" "Say? That it is a damned lie!" retorted Lomax, coolly. "Are ye for denying that t' inspector chap war wi' ye in t' Bull that night?" "He was." The three poachers crept a little apart; they were loth to hear young Lomax condemn himself so openly. "Then what have ye to say for yourseln?" Griff, once he was roused, was stubborn as a mule. He kicked against little Jefferson's domineering tone, and he resented the facile way in which these comrades of his had given their verdict against him at a word from a man like Strangeways. "Nothing; I've nothing to say," he repeated. "There's plenty that I could say, but nothing that I will; so put that in your pipe, Dave Jefferson, and smoke it till you're sick." A low murmur rose from the company--only the poachers were silent. "That means fighting, I fancy," said Lomax, after another long pause. "There are twenty-two of you, so far as I can count, and that's rather long odds. But it happens that you have three sound men amongst you." He stopped to look the three poachers square between the eyes. "You, Will Reddiough--and you, Jack o' Ling Crag--and you, Ned Kershaw--you'll all take an honest man's word against a cur's like Strangeways here. Have I dealt fair by you in the past?" Those three purloiners of their neighbours' game warmed to the man's pluck. "Ay, that ye hev, Mr. Lummax." "I tell you this is all a lie, and I'll prove it when we've had a taste of good hard blows. Come over here, you three, and we'll fight the lot of them. They're a weakly crew at best, and they ought never to show themselves on a moor." They hung irresolute for a second or two. Then their love of Griff, right or wrong, their instinctive response to his appeal against town-bred folk, above all, their zest for adventure, settled the question. They crossed to Griff's side, and the nineteen gamesters felt slightly less eager for the fray than they had been a moment ago. Lomax took advantage of their hesitation to throw a rapid glance about him: he saw, not ten yards on his left, the peat-rick which he had built up a few days ago, and which his farm-man was to cart away at the end of the week; and he framed his plan of action on the spot. "Come with me," he cried. "You have sticks, all of you; so have I. Take a side a-piece of that peat-rick, and I'll look after the front. _And hit hard_: we have our work cut out." The hesitation in the enemy's camp was over. No sooner had Griff and his three allies set their backs to the peats, than they were in the thick of it. Most of the nineteen had sticks, and the rest came on with their fists, trusting to run in under guard. _Thwack, thwack, thwack_ sounded Griff's heart-of-oak on three separate skulls, and he was left free for a breathing space.