“Three cheers for old England and the law!” cried the man. “I beg your pardon, sir: you’re right, and I’m wrong. What shall we do? Hang this lot?”
“That’s not obeying the law,” said Mr Raydon, smiling. “No; two of them are wounded. Their leader has his thigh broken; and his companion his hand smashed, as he tried to stab me. They have got their punishment. Disarm the rest. Then four of my men shall go with you to see these scoundrels well down the valley. If they show their faces here again they know the risks.”
“Right!” cried the leader; and he snatched the revolver from the nearest man, and his example was so rapidly followed, that in a few minutes the utterly cowed gang was huddled together, unarmed, and guarded by four of the Company’s people, who had advanced from the wood at a word from their chief.
“And now what about our claims along this stream?” said the leader of the new-comers.
“I am here to help you maintain your just rights, sir,” said Mr Raydon, quietly. “Now help me to maintain order, and to see to the wounded men. Bring lint and bandages, Grey.”
And as that individual produced the linen from his haversack, Mr Raydon handed his rifle to one of the gold-finders, and went down on one knee to examine Mr Gunson’s injury, which he carefully washed and bandaged.
“A terrible cut,” he said, in answer to my inquiring eyes, “and concussion of the brain. I hope not more serious. Now, my man,” he continued, turning to the big ruffian, “you tried to take my life, and I have got to try and save yours.”
The fellow made no answer, but winced and groaned with pain as his shattered limb was set and supported by rough splints.
“This fellow will have to be carried,” said Mr Raydon, rising; “he will not walk again for many months. Now, sir, you.”
He bent over the second ruffian and examined his hand, bathed and bandaged it, and then went to the stream to wash his own.