Twice Bought | Page 7

Paddy Flinders went with the same party, and we need
scarcely add that the little Irishman sympathised with Fred.
"D'ee think it's likely we'll cotch 'im?" he asked, in a whisper, on the
evening of that day, as they went rapidly through the woods together, a
little in rear of their party.
"It is difficult to say," answered Westly. "I earnestly hope not; indeed I
think not, for Tom has had a good start; but the search is well organised,
and there are bloodthirsty, indignant, and persevering men among the
various parties, who won't be easily baffled. Still Tom is a splendid
runner. We may depend on having a long chase before we come up
with him."
"Ah, then, it's glad I am that ye think so, sor," returned Paddy, "for I've
been afear'd Mister Tom hadn't got quite so much go in him, since he
tuk to gambling and drinkin'."
"Look here, Paddy," exclaimed his companion, stopping abruptly, and
pointing to the ground, "are not these the footprints of one of your
friends?"

"Sure it's a bar," said the little man, going down on his knees to
examine the footprints in question with deep interest.
Flinders was a remarkably plucky little man, and one of his great
ambitions was to meet with a bear, when alone, and slay it
single-handed. His ambition had not up to that time, been gratified,
fortunately for himself, for he was a bad shot and exceedingly reckless,
two qualities which would probably have insured his own destruction if
he had had his wish.
"Let's go after it, Mister Westly," he said, springing to his feet with an
excited look.
"Nonsense, it is probably miles off by this time; besides, we should lose
our party."
"Niver a taste, sor; we could soon overhaul them agin. An' won't they
have to camp at sundown anyhow? Moreover, if we don't come up wi'
the bar in a mile or so we can give it up."
"No, no, Paddy, we must not fall behind. At least, I must not; but you
may go after it alone if you choose."
"Well, I will, sor. Sure it's not ivery day I git the chance; an' there's no
fear o' ye overhaulin' Mister Tom this night. We'll have to slape over it,
I'll be bound. Just tell the boys I'll be after them in no time."
So saying Paddy shouldered his rifle, felt knife and axe to make sure of
their being safe in his belt, and strode away in the track of the bear.
He had not gone above a quarter of a mile when he came to the spot
where the mortal combat had taken place, and found Tom Brixton and
the bear dead--as he imagined--on the blood-stained turf.
He uttered a mighty cry, partly to relieve his feelings and partly to
recall his friend. The imprudence of this flashed upon him when too
late, for others, besides Fred, might have heard him.

But Tom Brixton was not dead. Soon after the dying bear had fallen on
him, he recovered consciousness, and shaking himself clear of the
carcass with difficulty had arisen; but, giddiness returning, he lay down,
and while in this position, overcome with fatigue, had fallen asleep.
Paddy's shout aroused him. With a sense of deadly peril hanging over
him he leaped up and sprang on the Irishman.
"Hallo, Paddy!" he cried, checking himself, and endeavouring to wipe
from his face some of the clotted blood with which he had been
deluged. "You here? Are you alone?"
"It's wishin' that I was," replied the little man, looking round anxiously.
"Mister Fred 'll be here d'rectly, sor--an'--an' I hope that'll be all. But it's
alive ye are, is it? An' didn't I take ye for dead. Oh! Mister Brixton,
there's more blood on an' about ye, I do belave, than yer whole body
could howld."
Before an answer could be returned, Fred Westly, having heard Paddy's
shout, came running up.
"Oh! Tom, Tom," he cried, eagerly, "are you hurt? Can you walk? Can
you run? The whole camp is out after you."
"Indeed?" replied the fugitive, with a frown. "It would seem that even
my friends have joined in the chase."
"We have," said the other, hurriedly, "but not to capture--to save, if
possible. Come, Tom, can you make an effort? Are you hurt much?
You are so horribly covered with blood--"
He stopped short, for at that moment a shout was heard in the distance.
It was replied to in another direction nearer at hand.
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