In a moment the muzzle of the pistol was at the sullen stranger’s ear, as Adrian sternly ordered him:
“Fire in the air, quick, or I fire here. Not a word. Fire!”
The sullen man cast one savage look up at the hussar’s face, but the menace he met there was so unyielding that he obeyed the order.
The harmless rifle-bullet whistled skywards, and the sharp report waked the echoes for miles around, as the now disarmed man stood glaring defiantly up at the hussar.
“Now drop your gun,” said Adrian, sternly.
The stranger obeyed, still with the same scowl.
“It’s my impression,” pursued the officer, grimly, “that you’re a spy of some sort, or you’d have treated a patriot officer with more courtesy. Unbuckle your belt, and drop it. I see you have a knife still. No fooling, sir. I shall be fully justified in shooting you if you hesitate.”
The stranger, without a word, did as he was told, still looking up at the hussar with the same defiant scowl as ever. The soldier, still keeping his strange captive under his eye, dived into the gay saber-tasche that dangled beside his sword, and produced therefrom a pair of delicate steel handcuffs.
“Hold up your hands,” he said, quietly, “I’m going to take you into Derryfield, dead or alive.”
Still the stranger spoke not a word. His face wore the same expression of bitter rage, without a trace of fear, though he stood there disarmed and helpless. He held up his hands, and allowed Schuyler to handcuff him, without a struggle. Then, as the officer passed a cord between his manacled wrists, and fastened it to his saddle-bow, he uttered a short laugh of bitter mockery.