Peggy, armed with the wastepaper basket and the skin, followed open-mouthed.
At the seat William paused.
"Peggy, you put the basket over his head an' pin his arms down—case he struggles, an' tie the skin wot I shot round him, case he struggles."
Peggy stood upon the seat and obeyed. Their victim made no protest. He seemed to himself to be in some horrible dream. The only thing of which he was conscious was the dimly descried weapon that William held out at him in the darkness. He was hardly aware of the wastepaper basket thrust over his head. He watched William anxiously through the basket-work.
"Be careful," he murmured. "Be careful, boy!"
He hardly felt the skin which was fastened tightly round his unresisting form by Peggy, the tail tied to one front paw. Unconsciously he still clasped a bottle of brandy in each arm.
Then came the irate summons of Peggy's nurse through the dusk.
"Oh, William," she said panting with excitement, "I don't want to leave you. Oh, William, he might kill you!"
"You go on. I'm all right," he said with conscious valour. "He can't do nothin' 'cause I've got a gun an' I can shoot him dead,"—Mr. Percival Jones shuddered afresh,—"an' he's all tied up an' I've took him prisoner an' I'm goin' to take him home."
"Oh, William, you are brave!" she whispered in the darkness as she flitted away to her nurse.