“We’ll put him into the back part of the buggy.”
By the united efforts of both the outlaw, like a trussed fowl, was deposited bodily in the rear of the carriage, where he lay in a most uncomfortable position, jolted and shaken whenever the road was rough or uneven.
“You’ll repent this outrage,” he said fiercely.
“Doesn’t thee like it?” asked Luke, relapsing into his Quaker dialect.
“Curse you and your Quaker lingo!” retorted Fox, his black eyes sparkling vindictively.
“It wouldn’t do thee any harm to turn Quaker thyself,” suggested Luke.
“I’ll be bruised to death before the ride is over,” growled the outlaw.
“There is one way of saving you the discomfort of the ride.”
“What is that?”
“I might shoot you through the head. As the reward is the same whether I deliver you alive or dead I have a great mind to do it.”