At the first words of this sentence Bax started up with a look of intense surprise. Before it was finished he had seized a thick stick, and rushed from the tent, followed by his mate.
In two seconds they reached the centre of a ring of disputants, in the midst of which a big, coarse-looking miner held by the collar the indignant lad, who proved to be an old and truly unexpected acquaintance.
“Bax!” shouted the boy.
“Tommy Bogey!” exclaimed Bax.
“Off your hands,” cried Bax, striding forward.
The miner, who was a powerful man, hesitated. Bax seized him by the neck, and sent him head over heels into his own tent, which stood behind him.
“Serves him right!” cried one of the crowd, who appeared to be delighted with the prospect of a row.
“Hear, hear!” echoed the rest approvingly.
“Can it be you, Tommy?” cried Bax, grasping the boy by both arms, and stooping to gaze into his face.
“Found you at last!” shouted Tommy, with his eyes full and his face flushed by conflicting emotions.