Anthony took him by the scruff of the neck and held his face against the glass of the window. "Who do you see in the yard?" demanded he. It was the landlord himself, and hastily leading out a team of swift-looking horses, attached to a sleigh. At the same time a man was seen to cross the yard from the direction of the tavern door; it was the man with the patch over one eye, and he took the reins and stepped into the sleigh. Anthony tore at the window to open it, but it was fast; with the pistol butt he smashed the glass, and while it was still crashing and jingling he shouted. "Stop! I'd like a moment with you, sir!" The man in the sleigh gave one upward look, then wheeled his horses to face the road. Anthony leveled the pistol and fired; the heavy ball smashed through the back of the sleigh; there were cries from all parts of the inn; then, seizing the remainder of his belongings, Anthony ran down the stairs. At the outer door he met the landlord, thick-set, swift, with bright dangerous eyes; and the man held out a hand to stop him. "Monsieur takes many liberties," said the landlord. "He smashes my windows, and fires at my guests." Anthony saw the hostler with whom he had spoken the night before standing at the door of the barn. "My horses," said he, "and let me have them quickly." "First," said the landlord, and the hand was still held out, "we shall speak a few words." "So we shall," said Anthony, as he looked at him from under frowning brows. "And they shall be very few." He struck aside the man's hand and gripped him by the shoulder. "What manner of place do you keep here, where your crony tries to murder a traveler in his bed, and you lend your ready help to have him escape?" The Frenchman, with a heave of his powerful body, pulled himself free; there was a savage glint in his eye and a purposeful set to his jaws. He leaped at Anthony like an ape, and at once had him cleverly about the body. "Now, my loud-crowing young gentleman, I'll show you something," said he. There were some of the tavern's people who had gathered by this; heads were seen at windows, and each face wore a grin of derision for Anthony. Softly, creepingly, the cunning grip shifted and improved itself. From the ease of the things doing, the young man knew he was in the hands of a master of wrestling; he saw the bulging of the big thews under the Frenchman's clothes, and the swelling of his thick neck. "In another two minutes," said a voice, "he'll not have enough breath in his body to whisper with. And a little space ago he was talking loud enough." Anthony thought he knew this voice; he cocked an eye over the shoulder of the straining Frenchman in its direction and saw the big young man of the New York packet.