“We'll see,” Sandy exclaimed, with a sneer. “You've got me, not through any pluck o' your'n, but through black, underhanded treachery. You'd better double chain and handcuff me, or I may be too much for you yet!”
“I guess you'll do,” said the constable, examining the cords by the light of a lantern which his assistant had in the mean time fetched from without. “I'll even untie your knees, for you've to walk over the hill to the next farm-house, where we'll find a wagon to carry you to Chester jail. I promise you more comfortable quarters than these, by daylight.”
The constable then turned to Deb. Smith, who had neither moved nor spoken.
“You needn't come with us without you want to,” he said. “You can get your share of the money at any time; but you must remember to be ready to appear and testify, when Court meets.”
“Must I do that?” she gasped.
“Why, to be sure! It's a reg'lar part of the trial, and can't be left out, though there's enough to hang the fellow ten times over, without you.”
The two unbound Sandy Flash's knees and placed themselves on each side of him, the constable holding a cocked pistol in his right hand.
“March is the word, is it?” said the highwayman. “Well, I'm ready. Potter was right, after all; he said there'd be a curse on the money, and there is; but I never guessed the curse'd come upon me through you, Deb!”
“Oh, Sandy!” she cried, starting forward, “you druv me to it! The curse was o' your own makin'—and I gev you a last chance to-night, but you throwed it from you!”
“Very well, Deb,” he answered, “if I've got my curse, don't think you'll not have your'n! Go down to Chester and git your blood-money, and see what'll come of it, and what'll come to you!”