'The man's drunk!' said Jim, as the crowd narrowed in on him. He set his back against the counter, prepared to make a good fight.
A raw-boned, brown-faced native of about twenty-six grappled with him, but only as a pretence, as Done speedily found.
'Bolt, or you're a done man!' whispered the Australian at his ear. 'When I smash the lamp, over the counter and under the tent, and skedaddle for your life!'
This young fellow allowed himself to be thrown off, and backed into the crowd. The long man, who had recovered his wind, turned to address the men.
'It's Solo, mates,' he said, 'and there's five hundred waiting for us if we take him.'
The men moved forward in a body, but just then a pewter crashed into the lamp, and there was darkness. Acting on his new friend's advice, Done cleared the counter at a bound, and dived under the canvas. Picking himself up, he ran into the darkness. He heard footsteps following him, and increased his pace, stumbling on the strange ground. But a voice assured him.
'Keep to the right! Make for cover!' panted his pursuer.
VII
FINDING only one man following, Jim Done ceased running on reaching a clump of trees, and presently he was joined by the young Australian who had aided him.
'My colonial, you sprint like an emu!' gasped the latter. 'All the same, that was a mad sort o' thing to do.'