r had
already been committed. Their stock of provisions was so scanty, and
after all, the lives of the woman and child were worth more than that
of this unknown desperado! But, to do him justice, the thought no sooner
shaped itself than he crushed it out. "We'll wait till morning, and
see how he shapes," said Frere to himself; and pausing at the brushwood
barricade, behind which the mother and daughter were clinging to each
other, he whispered that he was on guard outside, and that the absconder
slept. But when morning dawned, he found that there was no need for
alarm. The convict was lying in almost the same position as that
in which he had left him, and his eyes were closed. His threatening
outbreak of the previous night had been produced by the excitement of
his sudden rescue, and he was now incapable of violence. Frere advanced,
and shook him by the shoulder.

"Not alive!" cried the poor wretch, waking with a start, and raising his
arm to strike. "Keep off!"

"It's all right," said Frere. "No one is going to harm you. Wake up."

Rufus Dawes glanced around him stupidly, and then remembering what had
happened, with a great effort, he staggered to his feet. "I thought
they'd got me!" he said, "but it's the other way, I see. Come, let's
have breakfast, Mr. Frere. I'm hungry."

"You must wait," said Frere. "Do you think there is no one here but
yourself?"

Rufus Dawes, swaying to and fro from weakness, passed his shred of a
cuff over his eyes. "I don't know anything about it. I only know I'm
hungry."

Frere stopped short. Now or never was the time to settle future
relations. Lying awake in the night, with the jack-knife ready to his
hand, he had decided on the course of action that must be adopted. The
convict should share with the rest, but no more. If he rebelled at that,
there must be a trial of strength between them. "Look you here," he
said. "We have but barely enough food to serve us until help comes--if
it does come. I have the care of that poor woman and child, and I will
see fair play for their sakes. You shall share with us to our last bit
and drop, but, by Heaven, you shall get no more."

The convict, stretching out his wasted arms, looked down upon them with
the uncertain gaze of a drunken man. "I am weak now," he said. "You
have the best of me"; and then he sank suddenly down upon the ground,
exhausted. "Give me a drink," he moaned, feebly motioning with his hand.
Frere got him water in the pannikin