As he raised himself to look over the bracken at his enemies, the staring color caught the eye of the bailiff, who broke into a long screeching whoop and spurred forward sword in hand.

Seeing himself discovered, the man rushed out from his hiding-place, and bounded at the top of his speed down the line of archers, keeping a good hundred paces to the front of them.

The two who were on either side of Alleyne bent their bows as calmly as though they were shooting at the popinjay at the village fair.
"Seven yards windage, Hal," said one, whose hair was streaked with gray.
"Five," replied the other, letting loose his string.

Alleyne gave a gulp in his throat, for the yellow streak seemed to pass through the man; but he still ran forward.
"Seven, you jack-fool," growled the first speaker, and his bow twanged like a harp-string.

The black man sprang high up into the air, and shot out both his arms and his legs, coming down all a-sprawl among the heather.