Marcus: the Young Centurion Part 2

"You'd better not touch us, old Serge," cried the biggest lad, in a whining tone. "You touch me and see if my father don't mark you!"

"I'm not going to touch you, boy," replied the herdsman. "I've done all I wanted to you for breaking down my grape poles that I cut and set up.

I've got you here because you wanted to fight."

"I don't want to fight," cried the youngest of the party. "You'd better let us go."

"Yes, I'm going to as soon as you've fought young Marcus and beat him as you meant to."

"We don't want to fight," half sobbed another. "We want to go home."

"I don't believe it," growled Serge. "You want to whip young Marcus, and I'm going to see you do it; only old Lupe, our dog, and me's going to see fair."

"No, you ain't!" came in chorus. "You've got to call that dog off and let us go."

"Yes, when you've done," said the old soldier, with a grin. "Who's going to be the first to begin? For it's going to be a fair fight, not six all at once upon one. Now then, anyhow you like, only one at a time. What, you won't speak? They're nice boys, Marcus, my lad, so modest they don't like to step before one another; so you'll have to choose for yourself. Just which you like, but I should go or that big fellow first."

"I don't want to fight," whined the lad indicated, and he backed in among his companions and placed himself as far behind them as he could.

"Oh, come! This is wasting time. There, go and fetch him out into the middle, Marcus, my lad--or no, I'll do it."

CHAPTER THREE.

AN OLD-FASHIONED FIGHT.

Serge had been standing leaning over his crook, but now, taking it in both hands and holding it before him, he stepped quickly towards the big lad, who backed more and more away; but his effort to escape was in vain, for, quick as thought, Serge brought down his crook as if to strike the lad a violent blow, making him wince and bound aside, when, before he knew what was happening, he was hooked by the leg like an obstinate swine, and dragged, yelling and calling for help, out into the middle of the stone shed.

"Got you," said Serge, coolly. "There, it's no use to kick. Here, you other boys, close up and see fair."

Satisfied at once that they were outside the trouble, the other lads began to grin, and, obeying the old soldier, they closed in together, whispering to their companion who had just been hauled out, as they believed, to bear the brunt of the expected punishment.

Their whispers were ill received by the selected victim, who, as soon as his leg was released from the crook, made as if to back away again; but his companions put a stop to this and began urging him on, trying to incite him to begin, he reluctant and resisting all the time, till his ire was roused by Marcus, who, at a word from the old soldier, dashed in to make a beginning, using his fists upon his enemy so well that, at the end of two or three minutes, the latter threw himself down, howling dismally and covering his face with his arms.

"Here, you are not half done!" cried Serge, poking him in the ribs with the b.u.t.t end of his crook. "Get up, will you, or I'll make the other fellows stand you in a corner to be thrashed."

"Oh, let him be, Serge," cried Marcus. "I did give it him well, and hit him as hard as I could."

"Oh, very well," said the old soldier, hooking the boy again and dragging him, resisting all he could, to the door.

"Just hold it open, Marcus, my lad. That'll do. No, no, Lupe, we don't want you. Now then, young fellow, off you go, and if ever I see you here again I'll set the dog at you, and if he once gets hold he won't let you off so easily as I do."

One minute the boy was resisting and tugging to get his leg free of the crook; the next, as soon as he realised that he was being set free, he dashed off, yelling threats of what he meant to do, till the dog sprang up with a growl, and the yells gave place to a shriek of fear, uttering which he disappeared from view.

"Oh, no, you don't!" cried Serge, as, taking advantage of the dog's back being turned, the others cautiously approached the door, and were about to make a dash for liberty.

As the old soldier spoke he thrust his crook across the doorway, and, as the boys fell back again, the dog resumed its watchful position and the door was closed.

Directly after, to Marcus' great enjoyment, there was a repet.i.tion of the previous proceedings, Serge selecting another victim with his crook from the five prisoners, dragging him out into the middle, where Marcus, who now thoroughly enjoyed his task, attacked him as Serge fell back, and, between him and the other lads, the second prisoner was forced to fight; but it was a sorry exhibition of cowardice, resulting in a certain amount of punishment, before he too lay down and howled, and was then set at liberty.

The proceedings were repeated till the other four had received a thrashing, and the last had clashed off, shamming terrible injury one minute till he was outside the door, and yelling defiance the next; and then, as the footsteps died out, Marcus threw himself upon the ground under the shady vines.

"Hallo!" cried Serge, anxiously. "Have they hurt you, boy?"

"No," was the reply; "but I hurt myself a good deal against their thick heads. But I say, Serge, do you think that was fair?"

"Fair? Of course it was!"

"But it seemed so one-sided, and as if I had it all my own way. They couldn't fight because they were afraid of you."

"Of you, you mean, boy, when it was man to man."

"No," said Marcus; "they'd have fought better if you and the dog hadn't been here."

"Yes, and they could all have come on you at once. A set of mongrel young hounds--half savages, that's what they are. You didn't thrash them half enough."

"Quite as much as I wanted to," cried the boy, "for my knuckles are as sore as sore. But oh, I say, Serge, it was comic!"

"They didn't think it was, my lad."

"I mean, to see you hooking them out one after another with your old crook, yelling and squealing like pigs."

"Humph!" grunted the old soldier, with his grim face relaxing. "Well, it has given them a pretty good scaring, and I don't suppose that they will come after our grapes again."

"Yah-h-ah!" came in a defiant chorus from a distance, where the young marauders had gathered together, and the dog sprang upon his feet, growling fiercely, before bursting into a deep, baying bark.

"Hear that?" cried Marcus.

"Hear it, yes! And it would not take much to make me set old Lupe after them. He'd soon catch them up, and then--"

"Yah-h-ah!"

"Fetch them down, boy!" shouted the old soldier, and, with a fierce roar, the dog dashed off in a series of tremendous bounds, but only to be checked by a shrill whistle from Marcus, which stopped the fierce beast and brought him trotting slowly back, to crouch down at his young master's feet.

"Why did you do that, lad?" cried the old soldier, staring.

"Because I didn't want Lupe to get amongst them, worrying and tearing.

What would my father have said?"

The old soldier let his crook fall into the hollow of his left arm and pushed off his battered straw hat, to let it slide down between his shoulders, where it hung by its string, while, with his grim sun-tanned face as full of wrinkles as a walnut sh.e.l.l, he slowly swept the drops of moisture from his brow.

"Hah, yes," he said; "I didn't think of that. He wouldn't have liked it. He's got so soft and easy with people since he took to volumes and skins covered with writing. Why, his sword would be all rusty if it wasn't for me. It's all waste of time, for he'll never use it again, but I don't like to see a good blade such as his all covered with spots.

Yes, boy," added the man, thoughtfully, "I'm glad you stopped old Lupe.

Haw-haw-haw! I should rather liked to have seen him, though, nibbling their heels and making them run."

"Nibbling!" laughed Marcus. "Nibbling, Serge!" And the boy stooped down, raised the great dog's muzzle, and pulled up one of his lips to show the great, white fangs. "Not much of nibblers, these."

"Well, no, my lad," said the old soldier; "they don't look nibbley.