Indeed he had enough to do, to run his eye backward and forward along the half-dozen men who immediately fronted him, and settle hurriedly within himself at which of them he would strike first, when they pressed on him.

He caught the eye of one in the centre, and resolved to hew that fellow down, though he died for it.
Again there was a dead silence, and again the same voice called upon him to deliver himself up.
Next moment he was back in the stable, dealing blows about him like a madman.

Two of the men lay stretched at his feet: the one he had marked, dropped first--he had a thought for that, even in the hot blood and hurry of the struggle.

Another blow--another! Down, mastered, wounded in the breast by a heavy blow from the butt-end of a gun (he saw the weapon in the act of falling)--breathless--and a prisoner.
An exclamation of surprise from the officer recalled him, in some degree, to himself.

He looked round.