Briggs, the silent man in the buggy, is captured before he knows what has happened.
Tom Briggs, his cowardly brother, is speedily reduced to a whimpering poltroon.
Ed. Dwight takes to his heels in spite of the warning of Captain Warren, and is speedily winged with a charge of fine shot. It is not a severe wound, but it has routed his courage, and he is brought back, meek and pitiful enough, all the jauntiness crushed out of him.
Larkins, my jehu on a former occasion, makes a fierce fight; and Louis Brookhouse, who still moves with a limp, resists doggedly.
Our vigilants have received a few bruises and scratches, but no wounds.
The struggle has been short, and the captives, once subdued, are silent and sullen.
We bind them securely, and put them in the coal wagons which now, for the first time, perhaps, are put to a legitimate use.
We do not care to burden ourselves with Larkins' roans, so they are released from the buggy and sent galloping homeward.
The bay Morgans, which have been "stolen" for the sake of effect, are again harnessed, as leaders of the four-in-hand. The vigilants bring out their horses from behind the brush fence, and the procession starts toward Trafton.