The blow was successful in this, for the man ceased his struggles on the instant, and straightened out with a stifled gasp.
Working rapidly, the scout pulled a couple of revolvers from the scoundrel’s belt, then unbuckled the belt and bound it about his ankles. With a cotton handkerchief taken from his throat he gagged him, and with his own handkerchief, twisted into a rope, he bound his hands at his back.
All this was accomplished by the resourceful scout in hardly more time than it takes to tell of it. Scarcely was the work done, when a hail came from the island.
“What ye doin’, Giles?” called a voice.
“Restin’,” answered the scout, disguising his voice.
“What’s the matter? Got a frog in yer throat?”
“Tired an’ winded, thet’s all,” replied the scout.
“Waal, hustle up with that plunder. Git it all over here an’ pile it up on the shore. We’ll take it behind the breastworks ter-morrer, when we kin have daylight fer it. Don’t fergit ter pull in ther bridge, an’ roll it up tight when ye do it. Look sharp, now! Them’s the on’y supplies we got, an’ if ye should drop a box inter the sands we’d miss ’em mightily. Bring a water-keg first. Our canteens are purty nigh empty.”
The scout heard the speaker moving away, and saw his dark form vanish among the boulders.