Garcia was active as one of the jaguars of the forest hard by; but I was young, and my muscles were pretty tough. And, besides, a faint shriek that I had heard as he dashed at me had given me nerve for the struggle.
It is hard to say, though, who would have gained the upper hand, for my principal efforts were directed at preventing him from drawing his knife, whilst I had his arms fast to his side, he all the while striving to free himself.
I began to be hopeful, though, at last, when, by a feint, he got me beneath him, and the next moment he had forced my head beneath the icy waters of the little stream. Very few minutes would have sufficed, for I could feel myself growing weaker; but there was help at hand. We were dragged out, and by the time I had recovered myself sufficiently to wring the water from my eyes, and, with my temples throbbing, to gaze about, there was Garcia pinned to the ground by Tom, whose foot was upon the villain’s throat, and his gun-barrel pointed at his head.
“Now, then, Mas’r Harry,” said Tom, “we’ve got the right one this time anyhow. Here, come and stick your torch in here, Mas’r Landell, and we’ll soon make it right.”
My uncle did as he was requested; and then, once more, Garcia made a savage fight for his liberty.
But it was in vain; and while I helped to hold him down Tom tightly bound his legs, my uncle performing the same operation with the prisoner’s hands.
“That ain’t no good, Mas’r Landell,” said Tom. “He’ll wriggle them loose in no time. Look here, I’ll show you. Turn him over.”
There was no heed paid to the savage glare nor the muttered Spanish oaths of our prisoner, as he was forced over on his face, when, producing some string, Tom placed Garcia’s hands back to back, and then tightly tied his thumbs and his little fingers together with the stout twine. A handkerchief was next bound round the wrists, and Tom rose.
“He won’t get over that, Mas’r Landell. He’ll lie there as long as we like—only, if he don’t hold his tongue, we’ll stick something in his mouth; and he may thank his stars that he has got off so well. And now, Mas’r Harry, I proposes that we all go back and see what the Indians are doing; and if they are not gone, why, we’ll all fire our guns off one after the other, as’ll kick up such a hooroar as’ll scare ’em into fits.”
Tom’s advice found favour; but it was not until I had thoroughly satisfied myself of the security of my enemy’s bonds that I had the heart to leave.