Nomad was driven to the conviction that this surrender meant his death; but, if he was to die, he preferred to do it in more heroic fashion than that.
He sprang from the ground, as the outlaw leader bent toward him; and his foot, catching the man under the chin, hurled him back against the men behind him, throwing them into sudden confusion.
Nomad, the next instant, was leaping away.
He did not run toward Nebuchadnezzar, preferring to take the chances of bullets alone, so strongly did he love his horse.
Bullets followed, whizzing through the air round his head.
The outlaws jumped in chase of him, yelling like Indians.
Nomad stumbled, as he thus leaped along, and fell to the ground.
It was a good thing for him; for bullets swept through the air over the spot where he dropped, and some of them would have struck him if he had remained in an upright position.
He was trying to rise, when one of the outlaws sprang on him, landing astride of his back, and almost knocking the breath out of him. This outlaw threw his arms round Nomad’s neck, and yelled for help; and, other outlaws piling on him at once, the old man was forced to submit.
When he had been tied, and sat helpless on the grass, and the light of a hastily built camp fire illuminated the scene, he stared quizzically into the face of the infuriated leader, who stood now before him, boiling with rage.