By this time another man had come up.
“We must have him if it’s a possible thing,” said Campbell. “That sort of vermin are best shut up where they can’t get into mischief.”
The burglar, now outside, heard these last words. He realized that Tom was too strong now to attack, and that his only safety lay in flight. If he could get away, there would be a chance for retaliation later. He could not escape into the street. That was barred by his pursuers. In the rear there was a fence to be surmounted. That was the only way of escape.
He was mounting the fence when his enemies came round the corner of the house and espied him.
“There he is,” said Tom.
Archibald Campbell raised his revolver and covered the ruffian.
“Halt, man!” he cried. “Do you surrender?”
“No, hang you!” answered the burglar, and he, also, was about to draw a corresponding weapon, when the Scotchman, feeling that their lives were in peril, and there was no time for parley, fired, striking the man in the wrist. The weapon fell to the ground, and he uttered an exclamation of pain. Before he could recover the weapon they had rushed upon him.
“Look out for his knife!” shouted Tom.
This made them cautious, and they stood off at a distance of six feet.