As he came over the crest of the hill towards the combatants, and, drawing his sword, shouted to the smugglers to surrender, hoping they might think he was supported by an approaching force behind, there arose out of the mist, from among the struggling, scuffling mass of cursing, fighting men, the figure of a lad, stalwart but supple, clothed in loose fisherman’s clothes and cap, and surmounted by a pale face, in which blazed a pair of steely gray eyes, surrounded by a shoulder-length crop of raven-black hair.
There was something so wild, so ferocious in the whole aspect of the lad, young as he was, that Tregenna watched him even as he ran, with singular interest.
Springing down the slope at a great pace, he drew his pistol, and pointed it at the lad, who was watching him intently with a lowering face.
“Surrender!” cried the lieutenant, as he ran.
But, instead of answering, the lad, after waiting, motionless, for him to come within range, suddenly leapt out from among the rest of the struggling men with a bound like an antelope, knocked up the pistol, and, with a savage cry, drew out a cutlass, and made a dash for Tregenna’s throat.
CHAPTER VII.
AN UGLY CUSTOMER.
Luckily for Tregenna, the ground was wet and slippery with the mist. As the lad flew at him, therefore, the force with which he knocked up the pistol in the lieutenant’s hand caused him to slip on the slimy ground.
In a moment Tregenna had seized him by the wrist and flung him down.