First in the Field Part 51

"Quicker there, lout!" roared Brookes; "and none of your sulky looks with me."

The convict took up another rail, while Brookes stood over him with the fork-shaft playing up and down in his hand; while, emboldened by the other's meekness, he went on with a brutal tirade of abuse, calling up every insulting expression he could think of, and garnishing them with bad language, till the convict winced as if under blows.

"Trying to humbug me with your lying gammon about the axe. It's as sharp as sharp."

"It is not, sir," cried the convict, angrily now. "Take it and judge for yourself."

He held it out so quickly that Brookes started back, and brought down the fork-handle with all his might, striking the axe from the man's hand.

"What!" he roared. "Would you, you murderous dog? Take that--and that--and that!"

As he spoke he struck again savagely with the stout ash handle, the second blow falling heavily upon the convict's shoulder, the third coming sharply upon his head and making the blood spurt forth from a long deep cut.

Then the fork was raised for another blow; but, quick as lightning, the convict flung himself forward, and his fist, with all the weight of his body behind it, caught his a.s.sailant full in the face, sending him down to strike the back of his head against the edge of the wood block, and lie there yelling for help.

"Murder! help! Sam!" he roared, as he lay there, a ghastly object, with the convict's foot planted upon his chest, he too bleeding freely from the wound in his head.

At one and the same time Mrs Braydon, her daughters, and old Samson came running up in alarm.

"Here! what's the matter?" said the latter, while Mrs Braydon turned sick at the horrible sight, and caught at her elder daughter's hand.

"Can't you see what's the matter?" cried Brookes. "Get a gun, Sam, quick! He tried to murder me."

"No, no!" cried the convict, startled by the charge, and shrinking from the horrified and indignant-looking Mrs Braydon and the two girls.

"He did, missus," cried Brookes, struggling to his feet. "I had to speak to him for idling, and he struck at me with the axe. There it lies, and if I hadn't had this fork he'd ha' killed me. You see, he's most mad: why don't you get a gun, Sam?"

"I don't want no gun," said old Sam snappishly. "He didn't cut your head like that with the chopper, did he?"

"Yes, yes: look! I'm bleeding 'most to dead."

"Looks more as if you'd gone down on the block. There, missus: hadn't you and the young ladies best go indoors?"

"No; not yet," cried Mrs Braydon indignantly. "In my husband's absence too! Man, man, have you not been well treated here?"

"Yes, madam," said the convict hoa.r.s.ely.

"Such an outrage--such a cruel outrage on Dr Braydon's trusted servant!"

"What he said, madam, is not true," cried the convict, recovering himself now from the giddiness produced by the stunning blow. "I did not, I could not raise the axe to him."

As he spoke he turned his eyes from Mrs Braydon to her daughters, and he shivered as he saw Janet's indignant look.

"I tell you he did," cried Brookes, holding the fork now threateningly, as soldiers would bayonets. "He tried to murder me. Sam, are you going to fetch a gun?"

"Yah! I'm going to fetch a bucket o' water if you won't do it yourself.

Missus--young ladies, why don't you go? This ain't the place for you."

"No," said Mrs Braydon, taking Hilda's hand. "Come in, Janet."

But for a moment Janet did not stir, held as she was by the convict's imploring look as he said, addressing Mrs Braydon, though as if for her:

"Indeed, madam, it is not true. This man struck me brutally: I forgot myself--I did strike him in return."

"Yes," said Mrs Braydon coldly; and; uttering a sob, Janet gave the convict a reproachful look and followed her mother into the house.

CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN.

BROOKES STRIKES BACK.

"That's better!" said old Sam. "The masters both out, and we're having a nice day here."

Leather stood as if turned to stone.

"Let's look at you," continued the old man, as he roughly spun Brookes round. "Where's yer 'ankycher?"

Brookes made a movement to seize the axe, but old Sam kicked it away.

"Let it alone, stoopid! What did you want to tell that lie for? He didn't hit you wi' that."

"I swear he did," cried Brookes fiercely.

"Then you'd swear anything," said Sam, binding up the rough cut. "But do you think I'm a fool? Any one can see that wasn't made with the edge of a chopper. Did he give you that lovely crack in the mouth with the chopper too?"

"I'll let him see--I'll let him see!"

"I wouldn't till I'd washed my face. Sarves you right: you're allus letting out at somebody. If I warn't a nat'ral angel in temper I should ha' let you have it years ago."

"I'll let him see--I'll let him see," muttered Brookes savagely.

"Better shake hands like a man," said old Sam.

"Convict or no convict, he's only give you what you asked for."

"I'll let him see," snarled Brookes; and he went off toward the stable.

"Gone there to one of the buckets," growled old Sam. "I was going to take you there. Here, let's have a look at your head."

"Oh, it's nothing--nothing," said Leather hastily.

"Nothing! when you're bleeding like a pig. Come along to the bothy, and let's bathe and tie it up. Why, Leather, this looks as if he'd used the axe! Reg'lar clean cut."

"No, it was with the fork handle. There, it will do me good. Let out some of the hot, mad blood."

"Ay," said old Sam, guiding him, for he staggered, to the men's bothy, and bathing and tying up the wound. "It's a pity, my lad. I wish you hadn't hit back, for you see if he should turn nasty and complain--"