“Joe, mate—quick!” roared the latter; and the big ruffian, who had now risen to his feet, stooped and picked up a piece of stone, raising it with both hands to bring it down on Mayne’s head.
“Leather!” yelled Nic; “look out—look out!”
“Surrender!” roared a stern voice which sounded familiar, and the man with the stone paused for a moment to glance about like a wild beast. Then, seeing that he was surrounded by mounted police, who covered those present with their carbines, he hurled the stone with all force at the nearest man and made a rush to escape, when there were three puffs of smoke, three reports, and the convict tripped and fell.
Taking advantage of the smoke and excitement, Frank Mayne’s adversary struck at him once more, and made a leap to escape, dragging the half-insensible assigned servant with him; but the grasp was too tenacious, and though he tried hard, Mayne held on to the end; only sinking back when a pair of handcuffs had secured the prisoner’s hands behind his back.
“Now then, you with the gun there, surrender!” shouted the man who led the mounted police.
This to the convict who had confined his fighting to his struggle with Nic.
“’Course I do,” said the man, making a grimace. “That young shaver’s got all the powder and shot: where’s the good of an empty gun? Here, ketch ’old. No, I forgot; it’s yourn, young un. Well, how are you all?”
The police laughed as the man held out his hands for the irons.
“We’ve had a nice little ’scursion out here, only the nights was rather cold. Well, Mr Government clerk, you won’t have a chance to pull your friend a topper now. How’s old Joe? What, more company?”
This was accompanied by another distortion of the face, as two blacks came running up, followed by the doctor, the governor, Brookes, and Sir John’s two men.