Tinker sprang aside as the ram's head went down to butt, and as he hurtled past, prodded him with the sword behind the shoulder.
Billy pulled himself up as soon as he could check his momentum, and turned and stood blinking.

Twice he rapped the ground hard with his forefoot.

Tinker again drew to within ten yards of him; again Billy charged; and again he was prodded behind the shoulder.

It was a beautiful game, and Tinker's lightness of foot, quickness of eye, and coolness of head did every credit to the education he had received from his father.
It was, indeed, a fine game, but as dangerous as it was fine; if Billy had once downed the boy, he would never have left him till he had ground the life out of him.

This Tinker did not know, so that he did not draw all the excitement out of the game he would have done.