“The devil!” yelled the rider; and dug his spurs into the rearing beast’s flanks.
Chauvenet held on valiantly with both hands to the horse’s head. Once the frightened beast swung him clear of the ground. A few yards distant Durand sat on his own horse and held the bridles of the others. He soothed the restless animals in low tones, the light of his cigarette shaking oddly in the dark with the movement of his lips.
The horse ceased to plunge; Zmai held its rider erect with his left arm while the right drew the sack down over the head and shoulders of the prisoner.
“Tie him,” said Chauvenet; and Zmai buckled a strap about the man’s arms and bound them tight.
The dust in the bag caused the man inside to cough, but save for the one exclamation he had not spoken. Chauvenet and Durand conferred in low tones while Zmai drew out a tether strap and snapped it to the curb-bit of the captive’s horse.
“The fellow takes it pretty coolly,” remarked Durand, lighting a fresh cigarette. “What are you going to do with him ?”
“We will take him to his own place—it is near—and coax the papers out of him; then we’ll find a precipice and toss him over. It is a simple matter.”
Zmai handed Chauvenet the revolver he had taken from the silent man on the horse.
“I am ready,” he reported.
“Go ahead; we follow;” and they started toward the bungalow, Zmai riding beside the captive and holding fast to the led-horse. Where the road was smooth they sent the horses forward at a smart trot; but the captive accepted the gait; he found the stirrups again and sat his saddle straight. He coughed now and then, but the hemp sack was sufficiently porous to give him a little air. As they rode off his silent submission caused Durand to ask: