Alwa jerked the cord, and the great gate yawned, well-oiled and silent.
The oncomer raced straight for the middle of the intercepting line of horsemen; they--knowing him by this time for no friend--started to meet him; and Alwa's eight, unannounced and unexpected, whirled into them from the rear.
In a second there was shouting, blind confusion--eddying and trying to reform.

The lone galloper pulled clear, and Alwa's men drove his opponents, crupper over headstall, into a body of the main contingent who had raced up in pursuit.

They rammed the charge home, and reeled through both detachments--then wheeled at the spur and cut their way back again, catching up their man at the moment that his horse dropped dead beneath him.

They seized him beneath the arms and bore him through as the great gate dropped and cut his horse in halves.

Then one man took the galloper up behind his saddle, and bore him up the hill unquestioned until he could dismount in front of Alwa.
"Who art thou ?" demanded the owner of the rock, recognizing a warrior by his trademarks, but in no way moderating the natural gruffness of his voice.