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"The Stockaders, reversing the procedure of their kinsmen of the towns, live apart from one another, each proprietor depending wholly upon his own resources for sustenance and defence. Some of the larger estates contain several hundred acres enclosed by a strong timber stockade and otherwise defended against the assaults of enemies.
"I shall not require so severe a test of your good faith," he said at length. "Yet I may ask you to hold the question open, to give me a chance to prove that my plans are feasible and that action is necessary for the future peace of all." "That I can agree to with all my heart. But, mind you, the argument must have a keen edge and weight behind it. We Stockaders are a stubborn generation."
A moment before he had stumbled against a small keg that was rolling about under the feet of the struggling men; this he up-ended and mounted for a better look around. It was true; the Doomsmen were really giving way, and the victory was all but won. Yet not quite, for even as he gazed the onrushing line of the triumphant Stockaders sagged backward at the centre, and the Doomsman yell broke out.
The attempt to block up the passage, had failed for lack of time, and the Stockaders were pouring through pellmell, intent on securing foothold in the open. The Doomsmen, forsaking the now useless walls, met them man to man; there was the clash of opposing bucklers, and through the din pierced the keen, clear ring of blades in play the Song of the Sword.
Three hundred yards away the Stockaders came suddenly into view, but it was close to sunset, the time for the evening meal, and, as though by mutual consent, both sides laid aside their arms for the homelier utensils of the cuisine. Down in the Citadel Square a hundred little fires started up, and as many pots and kettles began to bubble cheerfully.
"If there is one among you," he said, with smooth distinctness, "who thinks himself a man, let him stand forth and make answer to our father, Dom Gillian, face to face, so that our lord may particularly inquire concerning these dogs of Stockaders who dare to show a naked blade in the inmost citadel of Doom the Forbidden.
The object of the game was, of course, to strike the fatal blow; but, skilled as were the young Stockaders in the art of throwing the knife, it often happened that a bull would be bleeding from a hundred wounds and still keep his feet.
Constans's thoughts reverted to the fire artillery of the ancients; with that at his disposal he would hold the balance of power. The possession of a single score of rifles should enable him to demonstrate the feasibility of the attempt to his sluggard kinsmen, the Stockaders, and to the even more reluctant townsmen.
The diversion in the rear came at the opportune moment. The Doomsmen had so far greatly out-numbered the Stockaders, and the latter were being forced back into the vaulted passage, thereby blocking it against the main body of their comrades.
Were the Stockaders and the House People to join hands they could overwhelm us in a night, but they will not, since jealousy digs an ever-widening chasm. Moreover, it is a strong position that we hold here in this wilderness of stone, when every brick is a man. There is no need for boasting; this is the truth, as you know. "Yet there is one thing lacking a man to lead and a brain to guide.
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