"We must be ready to rush in if Ingle uses him too hard," announced Cornwaleys. The two men watched with all their eyes, and this is what they saw:-- The giant, having the paper thrust in his face, grew red with rage and strove to rise and reach for his sword, but only succeeded in falling across the table, his hair trailing into the mug of ale. Then the nimble little sheriff, who was perhaps less drunk than he had feigned, whipped around the table and drawing a length of cord from his capacious jerkin succeeded in binding the wrists of his adversary before he could rise. Ingle roared out curses. The landlord shouted from his bed to know what was the matter. "Oh, 'tis naught. Give yourself no trouble in the matter. Captain Ingle has had overmuch drink even for him, and I am taking him home." "There seems to be a break in our fine plan," murmured Neale. "What if Ellyson prove the better man of the two?" "Rubbish! How can he?" But a weak arm backed by a clear head can do more than mighty muscles befuddled with beer. Ellyson rapidly made fast his cord, and drawing out a stouter one tied that too, and tugging might and main pulled the captain off his stool headlong to the ground, where he lay for an instant grovelling, and then, gathering himself up, staggered a few paces to the door. "Thank ye for that, my fine fellow!" said Ellyson. "I could scarce have got ye so far without your own help." The next move of the little sheriff was a clever one. Hard by the door stood a hand-car used for the moving of casks to the slant of the cellar-way. Its wheels were made of sections of pine logs revolving on rudely fashioned axles. This car Ellyson rolled directly in front of the doorway, and then getting behind Ingle gave him a push which sent him forward face first upon the car. "What say ye now, Neale?" whispered Cornwaleys, pressing closer than ever into the shadow. "Say? I say the devil is let loose and helping the little sheriff. Let us follow. His luck may have a turn." Down the street went the four men, Ellyson grunting and sweating under his burden, but full of the joy of conquest over an unequal foe, and of the complacency born of a sense of duty fulfilled, combined with the hope of preferment. Already he saw himself promoted to fat office, perhaps to the Council itself. But at this juncture a strange thing happened. The night air had begun to cool Ingle's hot head and clear the beer-befuddled brain. With a mighty effort he tore his arms loose from the encircling cords, and reaching for the poniard in his breast sprang from the car. Luckily for Ellyson, Ingle's legs were still unsteady. As it was, the doughty little man was consumed with terror at the sight of the giant lunging about with his weapon gleaming in his hand, as he waved it wildly and aimlessly about his head. In his terror Ellyson called aloud for help; but excitement made his voice so weak it could scarcely be heard a hundred feet away.