"They come!" echoed Peyrot, and at once he had his sword out, and had struck at Ogier from behind. The blow would have been fatal had not the old man worn Le Gros Guillem's jerkin lined with ring mail. In a moment Peyrot was caught by the fork of the collier, round the throat, under chin and ears, was flung backwards and pinned to the ground. "Haro! help all! I have the wolf!" yelled the man, and from out of the scrub poured the peasants returning from the chase. They had been so far successful that they had killed the male wolf and the cubs, but the dam had escaped them. They were exultant, excited by the hunt; they carried the beasts they had killed slung across poles. "See here!" cried the collier. "Here is the worst wolf of all--he tried to murder the Sieur del' Peyra!" "We will drive him into your charcoal and burn him!" cried a peasant. "That will spoil my charcoal. He is not worth it," answered the collier. "We will hack him to pieces!" "We will cudgel out his brains!" "We will flay him alive!" As many voices, so many opinions. At the same time arrived the party from Le Peuch. "Here are others! See! Another red cross! Burn--hang--brain them both! Here are other two! Kill them all--all!" The peasants seethed and swirled round Heliot, whose hands were bound, and about Amanieu and Roger. "My friends," said Jean del' Peyra, "you are mistaken. This is my prisoner. The others are my very good friends." "You would not let us kill them before, and now this fellow tried to murder your father. He struck at him from behind like a coward." "If he has done that," said Jean, "his life is forfeit. Who says he did that?" "I do," answered the collier. "I saw him. He has been looking out for an opportunity all morning. I saved the Seigneur." "Very well," said Jean. "Then I speak no word in his behalf. Let him be taken to the next tree and hanged." "Hang him! hang him! who has a rope? That which fastens the old wolf will do! No--it is too short, make a band of hazel." Then a voice shouted: "There is before you Le Gros Guillem's daughter. Why should we kill the wolf's cubs and let run Guillem's whelps?" "Kill her! kill the whelp!" yelled the men, and crowded round Noémi. "She is a Tarde! Hands off!" called another. "Take the men, do not touch a woman!" Then the crowd precipitated itself on the bound _routier_; Amanieu and Roger drew their swords and kept the peasants at bay. "She is a cub of Gros Guillem, I swear it!" called a man. "Kill the whole breed, or she will mother _loups-garoug_!" (Were-wolves.)