“Hurray!” whispered Esau; “he ain’t dead. I say, can’t we get untied and drop on to them now when they don’t expect it?”
“Impossible,” I said, bitterly, “they’ve got the rifles too.”
“Oh, I say,” groaned Esau, “ain’t it too bad, Mayne Gordon! Just as we was all going to be rich, and now we shall be cheated out of it all. Only wish I could get my hands undone.”
What he would have done I cannot say, for his hands were tied fast, and we lay there listening to the talking and coarse laughter of the men about the fire, and a faint groan now and then from Mr Gunson, till the day began to break; and as the sun lit up the misty valley, and shot its bright, golden arrows through the trees, the men rose, and two of them took hold of Mr Gunson’s head and heels, and carried him out into the open. “Dead?” said one of them.
“Not he. Take a harder crack to kill him,” said the big fellow. “Bring out them two boys and lay ’em here. I’m going to hold a court.”
“Here, mind what you’re doing,” cried Esau, as he was lifted. “You hurt.”
“Hold your row, warmint,” growled one of his hearers; and as Esau kicked out viciously, they threw him down by Gunson just as if he was a sack of wheat.
“All right, cowards,” exclaimed Esau, viciously. “I’ll serve you out for this.”
I set my teeth hard, so as not to make a sound, though they hurt me horribly, and I too was thrown down on the grass near the fire, while the big leader seated himself on a stone, took out and filled his pipe, lit it with a burning brand, and then began to smoke, while the men formed a circle round.
“Now then, young ’un,” the big ruffian said to me, “speak up, and we shan’t hurt you, but if you don’t tell the whole truth, one of my mates here will take you into the woods there, and use his knife.”