The light that he noticed on the bank was approaching. It was held at no great distance from the ground. It might equally be carried in the hand of one on foot, or be swung from the stirrups of a rider. It was, however, improbable that a horseman would be contented with a single light. Drownlands did not ride forward to meet the advancing light. He remained stationary, with his right hand holding the flail, so that the end of the staff rested on his thigh, much as a field-marshal is represented in pictures holding his _bâton_. In the Fens the horses are unshod, and on a way that is without stones there will be little sound of a horse when trotting; but as the moving light neared, Drownlands was aware from the vibration of the embankment that a horse was approaching. A minute later, and he saw before him Jake Runham, mounted. The recognition was mutual. 'Out of my way!' shouted Runham. 'Out of my way, you dog, or I will ride you down!' 'I will not get out of your way. Why did you call?' 'I call? I call you? That's a likely tale. What should I want with a twopenny-ha'penny chap such as you?' 'Twopenny-ha'penny? Do you mean me?' 'Yes, I do.' 'You are drunk. Some one called.' 'Not I. But I call now, and loud enough. Stand out of my way; get down the side of the bank; and go to the devil.' 'I will not make way for you,' said Drownlands. Then between his teeth, 'It is well we have met.' 'Ay, it is well.' 'Now we can settle old scores. Now'—he looked up, and waved his flail towards heaven, which was clad with clouds—'now that no eyes look down from above, and we are quite sure there are no eyes watching us from below'— Then Runham, with a yell, dug his spurs into the flanks of his steed, and made him bound forward. His intention was, with the impetus, to drive his adversary and horse down the bank. As it was, his horse struck that of Drownlands, which, being a heavy beast, swerved but slightly. 'Keep off, you drunken fool!' shouted Ki. 'Am I to keep off you? I? Not I. I will have the bank to myself. Let me pass, or I will ride over you and tread your brains out.' 'You will have the matter of the past fought out between us?' 'Ay! Ay!' Jake backed his horse, snorting and plunging under the curb. Then, when he had retired some twenty yards, he uttered a halloo, whirled his flail above his head, drove his heels into the sides of his steed, and came on at a gallop. Drownlands raised and brandished his flail, and brought it down with a sweep before him. This alarmed his own horse, which reared and started, but more so that of his rival, which suddenly leaped on one side, and nearly unseated Jake Runham. However, Jake gripped the pommel, and with an oath urged his horse into the path again. Drownlands had forgotten about the call that had induced him to turn his horse. His attention was solely occupied with the man before him.