In a second Tom had whipped out his pistols, and fired full at a
dark figure in front of him; but his eyes were full of blood, and a
taunting laugh told him that his shot had missed its mark. With a
quick movement of his strong arm backwards he dealt the man who was
holding him a terrific blow with the butt of the pistol, and
discharged the other full at another dark figure looming in front.
This time there was an answering yell; but the odds were still
tremendous, and Tom felt himself growing faint and giddy, and
though he hit out lustily on all sides, he had no confidence that
his blows told.
Every moment he expected to hear the sound of a report, and to know
that his quietus had come; but at last he was aware that it was his
captors' wish to take him prisoner, and not to kill him. They had
closed in upon him now that he was disarmed, and were using every
artifice to overpower him without further injury.
Tom felt his own struggles becoming weaker each moment, and at last
he was conscious that somebody had crawled towards his feet and was
passing a cord about them. In vain he sought to kick out and
release himself; the next minute the cord was pulled tight. His
feet were jerked from beneath him, he fell backwards heavily, and
for some time he knew no more.
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