“I’ve a big mind to, you cowardly old thief. I want to pay you for that crack on the head you give me from behind.”
“Come down, then, you sneaking hound. Where’s that doctor?”
“Too bad to move, with your cowardly shooting.”
“Wish I’d killed him,” growled Mallam.
“You’ve bit your own ugly red nose off in revenge of your face. If you’re waiting for the doctor to come and put you right you’ll have to wait a couple o’ months; and then if he’s a bit like me he’ll finish you off out of the way.”
“Are you going to send him down?”
“No; I aren’t going to send him down; but I tell you what I will do—if you don’t hand up that revolver I’ll pitch a lanthorn down alight so as to get a good aim at you, and then I’ll give you two barrels o’ this.”
There was a few minutes’ silence, and then the beachcomber began again.
“Send that Black Jackum down to me. Where’s he been all this time?”
“Keeping out of your reach, you old madman,” growled Bostock.