"Very true," nodded Barnabas, "and no hat ever could have had a
more--useful end, than mine."
"V'y yes, sir--better your castor than your sconce any day," said
Mr. Shrig, "and now I think it's about time for us to--wenture forth.
But, sir," he added impressively, "if the conclusion as I've drawed
is correct, theer's safe to be shooting if you're recognized, so
keep in the shadder o' the wall, d' ye see. Now, are ye ready?--keep
behind me--so. Here they come, I think."
Somewhere along the dark River hoarse cries arose, and the confused
patter of running feet that drew rapidly louder and more distinct.
Nearer they came until Barnahas could hear voices that panted out
fierce curses; also he heard Mr. Shrig's pistol click as it was
cocked.
So, another minute dragged by and then, settling his broad-brimmed
hat more firmly, Mr. Shrig sprang nimbly from his lurking-place and
fronted the on-comers with levelled weapon: "Stand!" he cried, "stand--in the King's name!"
By the feeble light of the moon, Barnabas made out divers figures who,
checking their career, stood huddled together some yards away, some
scowling at the threatening posture of Mr. Shrig, others glancing
back over their shoulders towards the dimness behind, whence came a
shrill whistle and the noise of pursuit.
"Ah, you may look!" cried Mr. Shrig, "but I've got ye, my lambs--all
on ye! You, Bunty Fagan, and Dancing Jimmy, I know you, and you know
me, so stand--all on ye. The first man as moves I'll shoot--stone
dead, and v'en I says a thing I--"
A sudden, blinding flash, a deafening report, and, dropping his
pistol, Mr. Shrig groaned and staggered up against the wall. But
Barnabas was ready and, as their assailants rushed, met them with
whirling stick.
It was desperate work, but Barnabas was in the mood for it,
answering blow with blow, and shout with shout.
"Oh, Jarsper!" roared a distant voice, "we're coming. Hold 'em,
Jarsper!"
So Barnabas struck, and parried, and struck, now here, now there,
advancing and retreating by turns, until the flailing stick
splintered in his grasp, and he was hurled back to the wall and
borne to his knees. Twice he struggled up, but was beaten down again,
--down and down into a choking blackness that seemed full of griping
hands and cruel, trampling feet.
Faint and sick, dazed with his hurts, Barnabas rose to his knees and
so, getting upon unsteady feet, sought to close with one who
threatened him with upraised bludgeon, grasped at an arm, missed,
felt a stunning shock,--staggered back and back with the sounds of
the struggle ever fainter to his failing senses, tripped, and falling
heavily, rolled over upon his back, and so lay still.