“Oh, very well,” said the old soldier, hooking the boy again and dragging him, resisting all he could, to the door.
“Just hold it open, Marcus, my lad. That’ll do. No, no, Lupe, we don’t want you. Now then, young fellow, off you go, and if ever I see you here again I’ll set the dog at you, and if he once gets hold he won’t let you off so easily as I do.”
One minute the boy was resisting and tugging to get his leg free of the crook; the next, as soon as he realised that he was being set free, he dashed off, yelling threats of what he meant to do, till the dog sprang up with a growl, and the yells gave place to a shriek of fear, uttering which he disappeared from view.
“Oh, no, you don’t!” cried Serge, as, taking advantage of the dog’s back being turned, the others cautiously approached the door, and were about to make a dash for liberty.
As the old soldier spoke he thrust his crook across the doorway, and, as the boys fell back again, the dog resumed its watchful position and the door was closed.
Directly after, to Marcus’ great enjoyment, there was a repetition of the previous proceedings, Serge selecting another victim with his crook from the five prisoners, dragging him out into the middle, where Marcus, who now thoroughly enjoyed his task, attacked him as Serge fell back, and, between him and the other lads, the second prisoner was forced to fight; but it was a sorry exhibition of cowardice, resulting in a certain amount of punishment, before he too lay down and howled, and was then set at liberty.
The proceedings were repeated till the other four had received a thrashing, and the last had clashed off, shamming terrible injury one minute till he was outside the door, and yelling defiance the next; and then, as the footsteps died out, Marcus threw himself upon the ground under the shady vines.
“Hallo!” cried Serge, anxiously. “Have they hurt you, boy?”
“No,” was the reply; “but I hurt myself a good deal against their thick heads. But I say, Serge, do you think that was fair?”
“Fair? Of course it was!”