The fourth, the one from the south, whose business it had been to support the priest, tripped and fell sprawling beside the lantern.
The Englishman had one arm round the priest's neck and was squeezing the breath out of him.

But the blood of the four was kindling, and they had vengeance instead of sport to seek.

Mouthing curses, the three of them went to the rescue of the leader, and a weaponless and sore-wounded man cannot strive with such odds.

They overpowered him, bending his arms viciously back and kicking his broken head.

Their oaths filled the hut with an ugly clamour, but no sound came from their victim.
Suddenly a gust of air set the lantern flickering, and a new-comer stood in the doorway.