One of the Skeleton Crew secured Redgill as he lay bleeding under a tree in the garden, and conveyed him to the coach.
Tim did not much relish any fresh encounter whatever.
Inspired with curiosity, and a keen desire to lay hands upon anything which the coach contained, he went up to the door, and peeped in.
The suppliant cries of those inside affected Tim’s heart, and he loosed them from their bondage by cutting the cords with which they had been bound.
This he did, but only on condition of their promising to help his master, which the liberated coachman and footman swore most solemnly to do.
When they stepped out of the carriage, however, they breathed very hard for a moment or two, and, seeing the fight going on all around them, took to their heels like lamplighters, nor even turned their heads.
Up the road they ran, as nimbly as rabbits, until, breathless, and almost on the point of bursting a blood-vessel, they fell headlong into a marshy pool, and lay there without attempting to move.
Wildfire Ned, Bob Bertram, and the plucky innkeeper, however, had, up to this time, been busily engaged with their grim opponents.
The publican had closed with one of them, and, in fast embrace, were then wrestling on the ground.
Bob Bertram used his sword with both hands, and, much to his delight, cut off the arm of one and leg of another.