“Don’t choke a fellow. I give in,” grumbled Samson, as the man held him, and presented his sword-point at his breast. “There, I won’t try to run. It’s of no good,” he added; and he made no opposition to a strap being thrown round his neck, drawn tight, and as soon as the man had buckled the end to his saddle-bow, he walked his horse slowly back toward the camp.
Before they had gone far, the other two mounted men trotted up, and seemed ready to administer a little correction with the flat of their swords.
“Yes, you do,” said Samson, showing his teeth; “and as soon as this bit o’ trouble’s over, I’ll pay you back, or my name aren’t what it is.”
“Let him alone,” said his captor. “Come on, lad.”
He spurred his horse to a trot, and Samson ran beside him, while the two others returned to their posts.
As it happened, Fred was riding along the outside of the camp with his father as the prisoner was brought in, and as soon as he saw who it was, the colour flushed to his face, and he felt that it was all over, and that he would have to confess.
“How now, sir!” cried the colonel. “You?”
“Yes, sir. I was only stretching my legs a bit, and this man tried to run me down.”
“Are you the man reported by the sentry as trying to desert?”
“Me trying to desert, sir!” cried Samson, indignantly. “Do I look the sort o’ man likely to desert, colonel, unless it was to get a good draught o’ cider?”