convict and the other one. 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. That's enough for me.”