"He is curled up in that hay, for the Satan's grub he is! That is where he is, see you!" "Maybe," another answered grudgingly, as they gathered before it.

"And maybe not, Simon!" "To hell with your maybe not!" the first replied.

And he drove his pike deep into the hay and turned it viciously.
The two on the top controlled themselves.

Tignonville's face was livid; of himself he would have slid down amongst them and taken his chance, preferring to die fighting, to die in the open, rather than to perish like a rat in a stack.

But La Tribe had gripped his arm and held him fast.
The man whom the others called Simon thrust again, but too low and without result.