“Another step forward and I give the word—Fire!” cried Mr Raydon, fiercely. “You see we are prepared for unpleasant visitors here, whether they are white savages or red. Now then, have the goodness to go, and don’t trouble us with your presence here again.”
“Oh, it was only a joke, mate,” cried the big fellow. “Needn’t make such a fuss about it.”
“A joke, to fire on my retiring men?” said Mr Raydon, fiercely. “Go, or my men will perpetrate a similar joke on you, you miserable bully and coward.”
“Bully am I?—coward am I?” growled the fellow, menacingly cocking his revolver.
“Cover this fellow, Grey,” said Mr Raydon without turning, and I saw Grey make a slight movement.
“That man is a dead shot, my good man,” said Mr Raydon. “Once more, go!”
“Right; we’re going, eh, mates?”
“No,” said another. “Let’s—”
“Another word, and I order my men to fire,” cried Mr Raydon, fiercely. “We have driven off a hundred Indians before now, and I tell you that we are well prepared.”
“Oh, all right,” growled the fellow. “Come on, mates. This is English hospitality, this is. Well, every dog has his day, and perhaps ours ’ll come next.”