That was quite enough for a boy like Corin and in a second he and the Dwarf were at it hammer and tongs. It would have been an even match for， though Corin had longer arms and more height， the Dwarf was older and tougher. But it was never fought out （that‘s the worst of fights on a rough hillside） for by very bad luck Thornbut trod on a loose stone， came flat down on his nose， and found when he tried to get up that he had sprained his ankle： a real excruciating sprain which would keep him from walking or riding for at least a fortnight.
“See what your Highness has done，” said King Edmund. “Deprived us of a proved warrior on the very edge of battle.”
“I’ll take his place， Sire，” said Corin.
“Pshaw，” said Edmund. “No one doubts your courage. Buta boy in battle is a danger only to his own side.”
At that moment the King was called away to attend to something else， and Corin， after apologizing handsomely to the Dwarf， rushed up to Shasta and whispered，“Quick. There‘s a spare pony now， and the Dwarf ’sarmour. Put it on before anyone notices.” “What for？” said Shasta.
“Why， so that you and I can fight in the battle of course！
Don‘t you want to？”