A rope was now procured.
With great dexterity some one present made a noose in it, and very cleverly threw it over Jonas’s head.
“Pull away, lads,” said the rope-thrower. “Now, then, all together!”
“You’ll choke the varlet,” some one said.
“Small odds,” said the rope-thrower, “small odds, so we get him dead or alive.”
“Now, then,” said another, “altogether; a strong pull, and a long pull, mind.”
So vigorously did they haul away at the rope that in less than a minute Jonas was dragged to the bank, half-strangled and half-drowned.
“Light ho! lights here!” cried a dozen voices, and lamps were immediately brought to the spot.
“That’s him! that’s one on ’em!” said the chief constable. “I could tell him out of a hundred; that’s him as has been prowling about Darlington, and rescued Bob Bertram.”
“He looks a villain every inch of him,” said old Harmer. “I’m sorry we haven’t got t’other; he’s the worst of the two; and the rascals ain’t satisfied with what they’ve already done, but must concoct a scheme for running off with my daughter Ellen.”