“And now here they are back again? Well, come along, Dean; let’s see what they mean. Where’s the doctor?”
“Gone off with uncle.”
“Bother! Well, we must do the bossing.”
“Shall I whistle for the men?” said Dean.
“Oh, no. They would think that we were afraid, and I don’t want that. Come along, Dunn. Where are the beggars now?”
“Close—Dan’s store.”
“Oh, I say, that won’t do,” cried Mark, and the next minute the sight before him showed him plainly that it was quite time to interfere, for there in the sheltered store made of a kind of thatch spread over some roughly piled up stones, close to what Dan called his kitchen, were a party of the blacks—some fifteen or twenty, at a glance—helping themselves from a bag of mealies.
“Come along, Dean,” shouted the boy, and without a moment’s hesitation he made a rush at the grinning black who was holding up the edge of the bag for his companions to clutch out its contents as hard as ever they could.
“Come out of that, you thief!” cried Mark; and he charged right at the fellow, when to his great surprise the black turned upon him and held him tightly by the arms. “What!” cried Mark, wrenching himself away. “Here, Dean—Dunn! Help! We can’t stand this. Ah, would you!” he continued, as the man, with lowering face, dashed at him fiercely with extended hands to seize him by the throat.
This was too much for the English lad, and without any thought of what might be the consequences, he met the chief marauder with a straightforward blow from his left, which took effect upon the black’s nose, staggering him for the moment with surprise, and making his companions stare.