A murmur from the shepherd spearmen.  Felix had discharged an arrow.  It stuck in the ground about twenty paces from him.  He shot again; it flew wild and quivering, and dropped harmlessly.  Another murmur; they expressed to each other their contempt for the bow.  This immediately restored Felix; he forgot the enemy as an enemy, he forgot himself; he thought only of his skill as an archer, now in question.  Pride upheld him.  The third arrow he fitted properly to the string, he planted his left foot slightly in advance, and looked steadfastly at the horsemen before he drew his bow.

At a distance of one hundred and fifty yards they had paused, and were widening out so as to advance in loose open rank and allow each man to throw his javelin.  They shouted; the spearmen in the circle replied, and levelled their spears.  Felix fixed his eye on one of the gipsies who was ordering and marshalling the rest, a chief.  He drew the arrow swiftly but quietly, the string hummed, the pliant yew obeyed, and the long arrow shot forward in a steady swift flight like a line of gossamer drawn through the air.  It missed the chief, but pierced the horse he rode just in front of the rider’s thigh.  The maddened horse reared and fell backwards on his rider.

The spearmen shouted.  Before the sound could leave their lips another arrow had sped; a gipsy threw up his arms with a shriek; the arrow had gone through his body.  A third, a fourth, a fifth—­six gipsies rolled on the sward.  Shout upon shout rent the air from the spearmen.  Utterly unused to this mode of fighting, the gipsies fell back.  Still the fatal arrows pursued them, and ere they were out of range three others fell.  Now the rage of battle burned in Felix; his eyes gleamed, his lips were open, his nostrils wide like a horse running a race.  He shouted to the spearmen to follow him, and snatching up his quiver ran forward.  Gathered together in a group, the gipsy band consulted.

Felix ran at full speed; swift of foot, he left the heavy spearmen behind.  Alone he approached the horsemen; all the Aquila courage was up within him.  He kept the higher ground as he ran, and stopped suddenly on a little knoll or tumulus.  His arrow flew, a gipsy fell.  Again, and a third.  Their anger gave them fresh courage; to be repulsed by one only!  Twenty of them started to charge and run him down.  The keen arrows flew faster than their horses’ feet.  Now the horse and now the man met those sharp points.  Six fell; the rest returned.  The shepherds came running; Felix ordered them to charge the gipsies.  His success gave him authority; they obeyed; and as they charged, he shot nine more arrows; nine more deadly wounds.  Suddenly the gipsy band turned and fled into the brushwood on the lower slopes.