Then men came rushing to Pinsent and shook him: "Up, Foxy! Up!" Then Pinsent drew up his knees, groaned, and seemed to collapse anew. Then, then the storm burst in a bellow of sound, in a rush of figures. All, all of clamour that had gone before--of exultation, hate, defiance, blood-want, rage--seemed now to bind up in two clanging rolls of thunder that in thunder went, in thunder thundered back, and thundered on again. Percival turned and saw Japhra running towards him, an arm's length in advance of the mob that followed. He fell into Japhra's arms, felt himself pressed, pressed to Japhra's heart, heard in his ears "Never thy like! Son of mine, never thy like!" He knew a driving mob behind his back, before, and all about him--heard curses, grapplings, blows. Heard Japhra's cry "Up with him! Up!" felt himself borne aloft and dimly was conscious that his bearers were staggered this way and that by the flood that surged about them.... Sudden darkness, and sudden most delicious air and sudden most delicious rain was his next impression--they had got him outside the tent.... At his next he was in the van, on his couch, smiling at those who bent above him. CHAPTER VI THE STICKS COME OUT--AND A KNIFE I "How dost thou go?" Japhra asked. "Why, my face is sore," Percival said--"sore! it feels as if I had only a square inch of skin stretched to cover the lot. I'm right as rain otherwise. That was a fight, Japhra!" "Never its like!" Japhra answered him huskily--"never its like! Thou art the fighting type, my son. Long ago I said it. This night hath proved me!" Percival sighed most luxuriously. Pleasant, pleasant to be lying there--bruised, tired, sore, but weariness and wounds bound up with victory. He put up a hand and took Ima's fingers that touched his face with ointment. "That's fine, Ima!" he smiled at her. "I saw you crying. You oughtn't to have been there. Did you think I was done for?" She shook her head; tears were still in her eyes. "Well, it's over now," he said affectionately. "Dry those eyes, Ima!" She gave a catch at her breath. "Well, I am a woman," she told him, and her gentle fingers anointed his face again. Their caress assisted him into drowsiness. Without opening his eyes he inquired presently: "What's all that row? There's a frightful noise somewhere, isn't there?" Japhra, who was looking through the forward window into the early dawn of the summer morning, turned to Ima and shook his head. She took his meaning and answered Percival: "It rains heavily. There is a storm coming up." He dropped into slumber. II