He swore savagely, and turned his ugly face full upon me.
"So you was the d—d young swell that came busting in upon us when we was just a-settling things off nice and comfortable t'other night, was you! I've a good mind——"
He had advanced a step or two towards me, and his fingers had closed firmly round his cudgel.
"Put that piece of timber down, John Hilton," I said, firmly; "you've tried conclusions with me once at Porlock, and you got the worst of it. So you will again if you try the same game. Drop it. Do you hear?"
I took a quick step forward, and raised my riding-whip. He hesitated, and then threw it savagely down.
"Curse it, what d'ye want to know?"
"It was Rupert Devereux who made you tell that lie before the court-martial?"
"Ay, 'twas him, right enough. I'll tell yer all about it. Muster Rupert Devereux ain't nothink to me! He comes to me that morning t' moment the bugle had sounded, and we was in the tents. 'Hilton,' he said to me, 'would yer tell a lie to be made a rich man for the rest of your life?' 'In coors I would,' said I. 'Then when you're summoned before General Luxton to-morrow,' says he, 'tell him that you saw nothing of my brother during the fight. Forget that he ran out to help us against those two black varmint. Do that, and I'll allow you two hundred pounds a year as long as you live.' 'I'm your man,' said I. 'That's right,' says he, and turns on his heel and walks back again. That were 'ow it war," he wound up defiantly.
I had hard work to keep my hands off him, but I did.
"And your two hundred pounds a year?" I asked, glancing around and at the bold-looking, slatternly woman who sat crouched on a stool watching us. "What's become of that? I presume you don't live here from choice?"