This vehement outburst of eloquence was brought to a sudden termination, and the old woman’s wordy complaint effectually strangled by the laughter and applause which greeted the appearance of a more ridiculous applicant for justice and his right.
Supported by two constables, who rather dragged forward, than led him, came Twm’s friend the hardwareman, crowned with the identical iron pot before named, which the officers, as a matter of official formality, or to indulge their own facetiousness, refused to remove, till in the presence of a magistrate. When his laughter had a little subsided, Prothero ordered the pot to be removed, and his hands untied. The hardwareman then told his lamentable tale in a few words; in conclusion, he declared, that having overheard certain words between the robber and his accomplice, he had learned that the thief was no other than Twm Shon Catty. His eye now caught on the figure of our hero, and with a yell as astounding as if the eternal enemy of man stood before him, he cried, “There he is! there he is! As heaven shall save me, there stands the man, or devil, who crowned me with the iron pot, while his accomplice ran off with the other.”
“And who robbed me of my flannel!” roared the old woman, who now changed her opinion, as her earliest suspicions became thus suddenly confirmed.
“And who stole my grey horse!” bawled Evans of Tregaron.
“And who sold it to me when disguised in straw boots and cow-hide breeches!” cried Powell of Brecon, who had now closely examined his features.
Things looked desperate as far as Twm was concerned, as an attack was now made upon him by three or four of his most determined enemies; but Twm eluding their eager attempts to grasp him, sprang upon the table before the bench, and drawing a couple of pistols from his coat pockets, held one in each hand, and kept them all at bay, protesting he would shoot the first who would advance an inch towards him. Loud was his laughter when they all started back: but Prothero, now sat silently on the bench, alarmed for his safety, which he had thought to secure by giving him warning of his danger, in the feint of his proclaimed reward for his apprehension.
As he stood in this manner, with extended arms, watchful eyes, and grasping the pointed pistols with a finger to each trigger, Powell of Brecon exclaimed, “Thou art a clever fellow, by Jove, Twm! very clever for a Cardy; but wert thou with us, the quick-witted sons of Brecon, thou wouldst soon find thyself overmatched. I dare thee to enter Brecon, to trust to thy cunning—come there, and welcome, and thou shalt stand harmless of me, in the affair of the grey horse.” Twm smiled, and nodded, in token of having accepted his challenge.