At that the last of the moss troopers
turned his horse, and galloped off at full speed.
"We have not taken long over that, master," Roger said, with a grim
smile. "Five men in a minute is not so bad."
"I am afraid John is killed, Roger. See to him."
"Ay, he is sped," Roger replied, as he turned the body over. "The spear
struck him full in the throat. That is what comes of not learning to
use your weapons. What shall we do with him?"
"He was a faithful fellow, Roger, and as there is no need for haste
now, we will give him some sort of burial, and not let him lie here in
the road."
"We have nought to dig a grave with," Roger remarked.
"No, but there are plenty of stones about."
He dismounted, and with Roger's help carried the dead man a short
distance away, laid him down by the side of a great boulder, and then
piled stones around and over him.
"That will do, Roger. 'Tis not like that anyone will disturb those
stones, for years to come. He will rest as well there as if he lay in a
grave. Now, let us look to the others."
The man he had struck across the throat, and the last Roger had hit,
were both dead. Two of the others were but stunned, while the one upon
whose shoulder Roger's blow had fallen was lying insensible, and
evidently was fast bleeding to death.
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