Young, agile and perfect in health, he outclassed them in running as well as in swordsmanship, and ere they had made fifty paces, both had thrown away their swords and were on their knees pleading for their lives. “Come back to the good priest’s hut, and we shall see what he may say,” replied Norman of Torn. On the way back, they found the man who had been disarmed bending over his wounded comrade. They were brothers, named Flory, and one would not desert the other. It was evident that the wounded man was in no danger, so Norman of Torn ordered the others to assist him into the hut, where they found Red Shandy sitting propped against the wall while the good father poured the contents of a flagon down his eager throat. The villain’s eyes fairly popped from his head when he saw his four comrades coming, unarmed and prisoners, back to the little room. “The Black Wolf dead, Red Shandy and John Flory wounded, James Flory, One Eye Kanty and Peter the Hermit prisoners!” he ejaculated. “Man or devil! By the Pope’s hind leg, who and what be ye?” he said, turning to Norman of Torn. “I be your master and ye be my men,” said Norman of Torn. “Me ye shall serve in fairer work than ye have selected for yourselves, but with fighting a-plenty and good reward.” The sight of this gang of ruffians banded together to prey upon the clergy had given rise to an idea in the boy’s mind, which had been revolving in a nebulous way within the innermost recesses of his subconsciousness since his vanquishing of the three knights had brought him, so easily, such riches in the form of horses, arms, armor and gold. As was always his wont in his after life, to think was to act. “With The Black Wolf dead, and may the devil pull out his eyes with red hot tongs, we might look farther and fare worse, mates, in search of a chief,” spoke Red Shandy, eyeing his fellows, “for verily any man, be he but a stripling, who can vanquish six such as we, be fit to command us.” “But what be the duties?” said he whom they called Peter the Hermit. “To follow Norman of Torn where he may lead, to protect the poor and the weak, to lay down your lives in defence of woman, and to prey upon rich Englishmen and harass the King of England.” The last two clauses of these articles of faith appealed to the ruffians so strongly that they would have subscribed to anything, even daily mass, and a bath, had that been necessary to admit them to the service of Norman of Torn. “Aye, aye!” they cried. “We be your men, indeed.” “Wait,” said Norman of Torn, “there is more. You are to obey my every command on pain of instant death, and one-half of all your gains are to be mine. On my side, I will clothe and feed you, furnish you with mounts and armor and weapons and a roof to sleep under, and fight for and with you with a sword arm which you know to be no mean protector. Are you satisfied?”