“Just what we wanted,” said Tournier; and giving the man a tip, they all went off again.
They had gone but a few miles when they heard the sound of horse’s feet in front of them. They halted and listened. It was only one horse, and they could distinguish the voice of
the rider urging the poor beast along, with not very gentle thuds of a whip.
“It is Villemet’s voice,” said Tournier: “and he evidently hears us coming.”
And now was the critical time. They wanted to secure without hurting him; and they also wanted to save him from the after misery of having hurt, or perhaps killed, one of them. So they broke into a canter, and, as they had arranged beforehand, began to sing at the top of their voices a jolly uproarious huntman’s song; and passing Villemet (who took them for roysterers going home,) on the right and left, reined up their horses, the foremost riders seizing the bridle, and the next two pointing their pistols at the runaway, and cried, “Stand and deliver in the king’s name,” and then all burst out laughing.
Bewildered by this, Villemet’s hand yet sought his pistol, but Tournier grasped his wrist and held it as in a vice, saying, “Don’t you know me, old friend?”
“I don’t call you a friend,” said Villemet, “to put a pistol at my head, and stop me from escaping!”
“My dear man,” answered one of the party, “none of our pistols are cocked.”
At this, Villemet made a frantic effort to disengage his hand, but he was overpowered, and both his pistols taken from him.
“Remember, sir,” the other said, “we can cock our pistols in a moment, and use them too: they are all loaded.”