he would
show them, he would, let them just wait.

"You stay 'ere," he said. "If I find you follerin' me, I'll mash your 'ed
into that much slobber." He showed me a short piece of rope which he had
twisted, sailor fashion, so as to form a handle for a jagged piece of
flint, which, as I could see, had been used on some one or something
quite recently.

"Mogador Jack," he said, "'e don't like people follerin' 'im." With that
he left me alone in the burrow, wondering, now that it was over, why he
had not killed me. He left me quite stunned; his sudden coming into my
life had been so strange. It was unreal, like a dream, to have been
in an ancient Briton's burial-chamber with a mad old pirate who had
committed murder. But now that he had gone, I was eager to go, too, if
it could be managed. I would not stay there till the brute came back, in
spite of that flint club. After waiting some little time, during which,
I felt sure, he was waiting for me at the door of the burrow, I took
out my pistol. I examined the charge to see that all was well; then very
cautiously, I began to crawl up the passage, with my pistol in my hand.

I waited for some minutes near the door, trying to convince myself by
the lie of the shadows outside that he was crouched there, ready for me.
But it seemed safe. I could see no shadow at all except the tremulous
fern-shadows. At last I took off my coat as a blind. I flung it through
the doorway, with some force, to see if it would draw him from his
hiding. Nothing happened. The ruffian did not pounce upon it. I took
a few long breaths to hearten me; it was now or never. I shut my eyes,
praying that the first two blows might miss my head, so that I should
have time to fire. Then, on my back, with my pistol raised over my head,
I forced myself out with every muscle in my body. I leaped to my feet on
the instant, quickly glancing round for the madman, swinging my pistol
about with my finger hard on the trigger. He was not there, after all.
I might have spared myself the trouble. I was alone there in the fern,
within earshot of a murmur of voices, talking excitedly. I was not going
to spy into any more secrets. I was going to get out of that camp cost
what it might. I made one rush through the fern in the direction of the
rampart, shoving the stalks aside, as a bull knocks through jungle in
Campeachy. In thirty steps I was clear of the fern, charging slap into a
group of people who were giving brandy to th