"Look out
for the rush!" cried Matthew, warningly. George, with a bound, gained
the wall, where, back against the stonework, he stood ready with the
handspike and the clubbed musket. So formidable an antagonist did he
seem to the men that they held back, till one of them, with a fierce
imprecation, dashed forward. In a trice he was felled to the ground, a
loud roar of rage escaping the man's comrades. An instant later and
the young lieutenant was fighting in the midst of a howling mob.
"Ah! Drat you!" came a bellow, and there rushed upon the rear of the
attackers the old skipper, cutlass in hand, followed close by the rest
of his little crew. This apparition, sudden and unexpected, upset the
nerves of the pitmen, and in a moment they began to run, falling away
from George and tumbling over each other in their haste.
"No you don't!" hissed the youngster between his firm-set teeth, and
making a grab at a couple he had seen prominent in the fight, he held
them with a grip they could not escape.
The attackers were routed; Binfield Towers was saved. Within a minute
George was being greeted, congratulated, thanked, till he was almost
fain to run for it, as the bulk of the mob had done. His father,
Matthew, Fieldsend, even old Reuben--all crowded around with delight.
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