Both were bleeding and panting and execrating and struggling; but of course I knew them both directly.
"Mind!" said my convict, wiping blood from his face with his ragged sleeves, and shaking torn hair from his fingers: "I took him! I give him up to you! Mind that!" "It's not much to be particular about," said the sergeant; "it'll do you small good, my man, being in the same plight yourself.

Handcuffs there!" "I don't expect it to do me any good.

I don't want it to do me more good than it does now," said my convict, with a greedy laugh.

"I took him.

He knows it.