“That will prevent his using it against us,” was the thought of our young friend, who again turned his attention to the combatants on the ground.
“Don’t be too hard on him, Bunk; I guess he’s had enough.”
“Why doan’ he holler ‘’nough!’ den? dat’s what I’m waitin’ fur.”
The victim had ceased his outcries, and was desperately trying to writhe free and roll off the burden, but his master couldn’t be shaken from his perch.
“Why doan’ yo’ holler like a gemman oughter do when he’s had ’nough? Holloa!”
When Harvey Hamilton thought the fellow was merely bluffing by his calls for help, he made a mistake. From out of the wood came running a man larger and older than any one of the three, and he was followed by a second, third and fourth,—all full grown, massive, muscular and each with fire in his eye. They had heard the cry of their comrade in extremity and made haste to come to his help.
Their arrival caused a change of program. Much as I like Bohunkus Johnson (and I trust that you, too, share the feeling), I am obliged to confess that like many of his race he had a tinge of yellow in his composition. So long as he held the upper hand, or so long as the fight was in doubt, he displayed courage, but the arrival of reinforcements threw him into a panic. He whisked off the prostrate figure, leaped to his feet and dashed at his highest speed into the woods. He ran like a person whose life was in danger, and the young man who had suffered at his hands sped after him, breathing threatenings and slaughter.
The new arrivals, who had been referred to as Bill, Sam, Dick and Tom, were evidently young farmers, none more than twenty-five years old. They had sturdy frames and could have given a good account of themselves in a physical struggle. They must have been mystified by what they saw, for the one who had dashed off in pursuit of Bohunkus had not paused to make explanation.
One fact was a vast relief to Harvey Hamilton: none of them carried a weapon, though it may be thought the quartet did not need anything of the kind in order to work their will with the slim active youth. The latter, with a quickness of resource which would have done credit to one older than himself, picked up the discarded shotgun at his feet, covering the lock as he did so with one hand in order to hide the harm it had suffered. So long as the others believed it sound and loaded, he could command the situation.
“Say, you,” said the tallest of the quartette in a loud voice, “what’s the meaning of this row? We don’t exactly git the hang of things.”