“Stand fast, mates,” cried the big ruffian, fiercely; “he’s only one. It’s him from the Fort, and we’ve got my gentleman now.”
“Stand back, sir!” roared Mr Raydon, “if you value your life.”
“Give up that gun if you value yours,” cried the man, and, bowie-knife in hand, he sprang right at Mr Raydon.
But at that moment there was the sharp crack of a rifle, the ruffian’s legs gave way beneath him, and he fell forward, sticking his knife deep into the earth.
“Fool! I warned you,” said Mr Raydon, hoarsely. “Stand! all of you. You are surrounded and covered by rifles—look!”
He pointed to where a thin film of smoke rose from among the pines, close by where Esau had blazed the tree.
“It’s a lie, mates,” groaned the prostrate ruffian; “there’s only two of ’em. Don’t let him bully you like that.”
“No, mate,” cried his chief companion. “It was a shot from behind. Come on.”
He in turn rushed at Mr Raydon, who merely stepped back as the man raised his hand to strike, when a second shot rang out from the same place, and, with a yell of agony, the hand which held a knife dropped, and the blade fell with a jingling sound upon a block of stone.