She gave a cry, rolled off the table and stepped into a corner, her back to the room. The older man cried too, differently. ‘Who the devil? Dog, how dare you? Burst in upon gentlemen, will ye?’
The younger man, closer to Pitman and nearer his size, did not yell. He growled, a beast interrupted; he stooped, slipped a hand into his boot cuff and pulled out a knife.
A blade always focused Pitman’s attention – especially thrust at him. Placing both hands on his stick, he slammed it sideways into the man’s wrist then smacked the top of the stout ash pole between the younger man’s eyes.
He screeched, dropped the knife and fell to the floor. His father shouted, ‘Do you know who it is you cross here, wretch? By God, I’ll have you flogged –’
Pitman brought the stick over in a great arc and slam
