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"Och! the poor cratur's stritchin' out like a injin-rubber man; sure he's a fut longer than he used to be him that was a sight too long already," said Flinders. "Let's try to shove him through," suggested the baffled Crossby.
Thus shown the weakness of the enemy, we stormed with renewed vigour, and on arriving at about a hundred yards distance we dismounted. The defenders did not face our fire long before displaying the white flag. I stopped fire at once and the train was ours. It was Lieutenant Crossby, of the Remount Department, who waved the white flag, and he now surrendered with about 20 "Tommies."
There happened to be a man in the party which Westly had joined, named Crossby. He had suffered much from thieves, and had a particular spite against Brixton because he had lost to him at play. He had heard Paddy Flinders's unfortunate shout, and immediately ran in the direction whence it came; while others of the party, having discovered the fugitive's track, had followed it up.
Heavy though he was, however, his strength was equal to the shock, and he would have scrambled out quickly enough if Crossby had not run on the same course and tumbled on the top of him.
"Sure, I'm not surprised at that for there's many things ye don't know, Crossby; besides, no ghost with the smallest taste of propriety about it would condescind to spake wid you. Well, boys, that's what the ghost said in a muffled vice their vices are muffled, you know, an their virtues too, for all I know to the contrairy.
He stood up at once, therefore, on being ordered to do so, and quietly underwent inspection. "Ha! I thought so!" exclaimed Gashford, contemptuously. "Any man could free himself from that in half an hour. But what better could be expected from a land-lubber?" Crossby made some sharp allusions to a "sea-lubber," but he wisely restrained his voice so that only those nearest overheard him.
Come now, Betty, tell us, like a good gal, is Tom Brixton here?" "No, he is not here," replied the girl. "Where is he, then?" "I do not know." "That's false, you do know. But come, lads, we'll sarch, and here's a cellar to begin with." He laid hold of the iron ring of the trap-door, opened it, and seizing a light descended, followed by Bevan, Crossby, Flinders, and one or two others.
The embrace that Crossby gave the youth would have been creditable even to a black bear, but Tom was a match for him in his then condition of savage despair. He rolled the rough digger over on his back, half strangled him, and bumped his shaggy head against the conveniently-situated root of a tree.
As if to corroborate Paddy's opinion, Westly showed signs of returning consciousness, and soon after sat up. "Did ye kill that bar all by yerself?" asked one of the men who held the fugitive. But Tom would not condescend to reply, and in a few minutes Crossby gave the word to march back towards Pine Tree Diggings.
"Then it must have bin your little chum Flinders. Where is he?" "How could Flinders ha' done it when he was tellin' a ghost story?" said Crossby. Gashford turned with a furious look to the speaker, and seemed on the point of venting his ill-humour upon him, when he was arrested by the sound of the Irishman's voice shouting in the distance. As he drew nearer the words became intelligible.
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