Lawrence doubted the honesty of the man’s assurance, but of course thanked him, and expressed readiness to avail himself of his assistance. He kept carefully at the extreme end of the hole, however, while his murderous deliverer removed some of the rubbish from the beam, and so made it possible to raise it. Remaining quite still, Lawrence waited till he saw that the beam had been so far moved as to enlarge the space sufficiently for him to get through. Then, with a sudden spring à la Jack-in-the-box, he leaped out, and stood before the astonished bandit.
Lawrence, whose sense of honour taught him to hold his promise as sacred to a thief as to an honest man, had fully intended to give up his watch and chain to the man if he should remain peaceably disposed; but the bandit was not so disposed. Recovering from his surprise, he drew a second pistol from his belt and levelled it at Lawrence.
Thought is quick; quicker even than triggers. His length of limb happily flashed into the youth’s mind. Up went his foot with a sudden kick, and away went the pistol into the air, where it exploded after the manner of a sky-rocket! The bandit did not wait for more. He turned and fled, much to the satisfaction of the victor, who, overcome by prolonged exhaustive toil and excitement, sank down on a heap of rubbish, and lay there in a semi-conscious state. It seemed as if both mind and body had resolved to find rest at all hazards, for he lay perfectly motionless for nearly an hour,—not exactly asleep, but without being fully conscious of connected thought.
From this state of repose, if it may be so called, he was partially aroused by the voices of men near him, talking in coarse, violent language. Raising his head languidly, he observed a band of about eight or ten villainous-looking fellows busy round a hole, out of which they appeared to be drawing some sort of booty.
“A prize!” exclaimed one of the men; “be gentle; she’s worth taking alive.”
A loud laugh from the others roused Lawrence again, but a feeling of unwonted exhaustion oppressed him, so that he scarce knew what it was he heard.
Suddenly there arose a female voice, in a cry of pain. Lawrence started up on one elbow, and beheld Manuela struggling in the grasp of one of the band.
If electric fire had taken the place of blood in his veins, he could not have bounded up more quickly. The shock seemed to renew and double his wonted strength. Like the English bull-dog, with terrible purpose, but in absolute silence, he rushed over the rubbish towards the man who held the struggling girl. The man seemed to be a leader, being the only one of the band who carried a cavalry sabre. The others were armed, some with short swords, some with carbines and pistols.
Swift though Lawrence was, the chief saw him coming. He let go the girl, and made a wild cut at him with the sabre.
Lawrence received the cut on his left arm. At the same moment he struck the villain such a blow with his clenched fist, that it seemed to crush in his skull, and sent him headlong into the hole out of which they had just dragged the Indian girl. Fortunately he dropped his sabre as he fell. With a shout of defiance our hero caught it up, just in time to arrest the descent of a carbine butt on his head. Next moment the man who aimed the blow was cleft to the chin, and a united rush of the robbers was for the moment arrested.