The prisoners took their cue from their leader, and behaved in an exaggerated, swaggering manner, that was galling in the extreme.
“Seem to have starved our horses,” said Nat, to one of his fellows; and, less fall of control than his leader, Samson spoke out.
“No, we haven’t, for we’ve given the poor things a good fill out, such as they hadn’t had for a month; and my word, Nat, you look quite respectable without those long greasy corkscrews hanging about your ears.” Nat turned upon him fiercely. “Do I?” he cried. “Wait till our turn comes, and I’ll crop you.”
“Don’t want it,” cried Samson, gleeful at his brother’s rage.
“Your hair don’t, but your ears do, so look out.”
“Silence!” cried Fred, sternly; and then he gave the order for all to mount.
As he was obeyed, and Scarlett swung himself into the saddle, his nostrils dilated, and as he felt the sturdy horse between his knees, he involuntarily glanced round at the surrounding country.
Fred saw it, and smiled. “No, sir, not this time,” he said. “I think you will be too well guarded for that.”
Scarlett showed that he was well dubbed; for his pale cheeks flushed the colour of his name as he turned away, feeling hot that his action should have been plain enough for his enemy to read his thoughts.
Then he set his teeth fast, and they grated together, as he heard Fred’s next orders, and saw a couple of men close up on either side of the prisoners, thrust a stake beneath their arms and across their backs, to which stake their arms were firmly bound, and the ends of the cords which formed their bonds made fast to their horses’ necks.