“Whorrt!” shouted Mike, seizing Don by the throat; but the next moment a sharp blow from a spear handle made him loosen his hold, and Ngati stood between them, tall and threatening.
“Here, come on, mates, if you don’t want to be took!” cried Mike, and his two companions raised the rusty old muskets they bore.
“Put them down, will yer?” cried Jem. “Lookye here, Mike Bannock: Mas’ Don told you he didn’t know where the ship was, and he don’t. We’ve left her.”
“Ah!” growled Mike, looking at him suspiciously. “Now, look here: don’t you try none of your games on me.”
“Look here!” cried Jem fiercely; “if you give me any of your impudence, Mike Bannock, I’ll kick you out of the yard.”
“Haw-haw!” laughed Mike. “This here arn’t Bristol, little Jemmy Wimble, and I’m a free gen’leman now.”
“Yes, you look it,” said Don, contemptuously. “You scoundrel! How did you come here?”
“Don’t call names, Mr Don Lavington, sir,” whined the ruffian. “How did I come here? Why, me and these here friends o’ mine are gentlemen on our travels. Arn’t us, mates.”
“Ay: gen’lemen on our travels,” said the more evil-looking of the pair; “and look here, youngster, if you meets any one who asks after us, and whether you’ve seen us, mind you arn’t. Understand?”
Don looked at him contemptuously, and half turned away.