“Keep your hands off,” said Gunson, shaking himself free, and springing up, an example we followed. “This part of the country’s wide enough, so go your way. I tell you again, this claim is mine. What I make is my business, so go.”
“Hear all this?” said the big fellow, quickly. “Hear this, mates? We arn’t inside a fence now, with a lot o’ riflemen ready, so just speak up, some of you. Isn’t this the spot we mean to have—isn’t this the claim Tom Dunn come up and picked?”
“Yes, yes,” came in chorus, as the men closed up round us in the gathering gloom; while I felt sick with apprehension, and stood ready to spring away as soon as Mr Gunson gave the order to go, while, fortunately for us, the way was open, being beyond the fire.
“You hear, mate,” cried the big fellow, fiercely, “so no more words. You and your boys can go, and think yourselves lucky we don’t slit your ears. Do you hear?”
“Yes,” said Gunson, smiling.
“There’s plenty of other places, so be off. Where’s your traps? Now then, cut!”
He took a step forward, and his companions seemed about to rush at us, when Mr Gunson’s voice rang out—
“Tent!”
We sprang across the fire, whose thin smoke half hid us as we rushed in among the trees, and seized our weapons.
“Scared ’em,” roared the big fellow; and there was a chorus of laughter from his companions, who gathered about the fire, kicking it together to make a blaze, and get lights for their pipes.