the voices of the buccaneers rang
nearer. Soon we could hear their footfalls as they ran, and the cracking
of the branches as they breasted across a bit of thicket.

I began to see we should have a brush for it in earnest, and looked to my
priming.

"Captain," said I, "Trelawney is the dead shot. Give him your gun; his
own is useless."

They exchanged guns, and Trelawney, silent and cool as he had been since
the beginning of the bustle, hung a moment on his heel to see that all
was fit for service. At the same time, observing Gray to be unarmed, I
handed him my cutlass. It did all our hearts good to see him spit in his
hand, knit his brows, and make the blade sing through the air. It was
plain from every line of his body that our new hand was worth his salt.

Forty paces farther we came to the edge of the wood and saw the stockade
in front of us. We struck the enclosure about the middle of the south
side, and, almost at the same time, seven mutineers--Job Anderson, the
boatswain, at their head--appeared in full cry at the south-western
corner.

They paused, as if taken aback; and before they recovered, not only the
squire and I, but Hunter and Joyce from the block-house, had time to
fire. The four shots came in rather a scattering volley; but they did the
business: one of the enemy actually fell, and the rest, without
hesitation, turned and plunged into the trees.

After reloading, we walked down the outside of the palisade to see to the
fallen enemy. He was stone dead--shot through the heart.

We began to rejoice over our good success, when just at that moment a
pistol cracked in the bush, a ball whistled close past my ear, and poor
Tom Redruth stumbled and fell his length on the ground. Both the squire
and I returned the shot; but as we had nothing to aim at, it is probable
we only wasted powder. Then we reloaded, and turned our attention to poor
Tom.

The captain and Gray were already examining him; and I saw with half an
eye that all was over.

I believe the readiness of our return volley had scattered the mutineers
once more, for we were suffered without further molestation to get the
poor old gamekeeper hoisted over the stockade, and carried, groaning and
bleeding, into the log-house.

Poor old fellow, he had not uttered one word of surprise, complaint,
fear, or even acquiescence, from the very beginning of our troubles till
now, when we had laid him down in the log-house to die. He had lain like
a T