“’Tisn’t Sam,” whispered Gwyn, “it’s someone else—stranger, I think. Then the mine must be valuable or he wouldn’t be there. What shall we do?”
“He has no business there. It’s on your father’s property, perhaps it’ll be ours, too,” whispered Joe. “I say, Ydoll, we’re not going to stand that; let’s go and collar him.”
“Agreed!” said Gwyn, excitedly. “We’ve right on our side. Come on.”
Chapter Eleven.
Fighting the Enemy.
Gwyn Pendarve’s “Come on!” was loyally responded to by Joe Jollivet, and the two lads made a hurried charge down the slope at the interloper so busy about the old mine-shaft.
Now, if you take two dogs out for a walk in the country, unless they are particularly well-behaved, spiritless animals, as soon as they see sheep, cow, or bullock grazing, they will make a furious dash, and if the grazing creature runs, they will have a most enjoyable hunt. But if the quarry stands fast and makes a show of attacking in turn, the probabilities are that the dogs will slacken speed, stop short a few yards away, give vent to their opinions upon the unnatural behaviour of the animal in barks, lower their triumphantly waving tails, and come back at a gentle trot, stopping at times, though, to turn their heads and make a few more remarks in dog language.
Truth to tell, when Gwyn and Joe made their charge, they fully expected to see the man leaning over the old wall start off and run; but, as it happened, he did not, but stood up, turned, and faced them, looking a big, sour-faced, truculent fellow, who scowled at them and stood his ground.