derous-working faces were close, pressing forward; and he ran with them, shouting:
“Get the little one! The little one! He’s gamming you! He’s the thief!”
Despite himself he chuckled at the yell that followed.
“Jimmie’s going to pay,” he said. “The little devil! He’ll pay when they get him!”
In the red of the low sun he saw Jimmie run up the street. He saw Ted Douglas burst out through the press, flinging the men behind, and heard the cry as of old:
“Jimmie! It’s all right! I’ll take care on yer, lad! Come back—Jimmie!”
A foot tripped Randal. He fell, jagging his temple against a broken boarding; and when sense and movement came back the quick twilight had settled to night, and the noise came fitfully, blown in gusts from the hotel bars.
He went down the emptied street slowly; met the drover at the comer, and sent him back with word to Effie. Then he turned into the first hotel and asked news of Ted Douglas and Jimmie. Six men told him, while the seventh bound his forehead skilfully. “... An’ it’s well there weren’t more murder done,” they said. “For them Chows is all on fur a bun-worry o’ sorts. It ain’t all over yet, perhaps. But the little one won’t do no more interferin’.”
