The figure withdrew at once to the tree-trunk. And a moment later the noose drew sharply tight about Cy Liskard’s bull-like neck.
With the tightening of the noose the last vestige of the prisoner’s self-restraint vanished. He cried out, and his whole impulse was for blasphemy and vituperation.
“Name of God!” he cried violently. “Cut this adrift if you’re men and not swine. What have I done? What d’you want? Gold? If you’re ‘hold-ups’ I’m ready to pay. You’ve got me where you need me. Turn loose your lousy tongues. If you cut this gear adrift ther’ ain’t a man amongst you ’ud stand up to me two seconds.”
A voice replied to him. It sounded muffled, and hollow, and far-off as it came from behind the mask of the man at the tree-trunk. But to the prisoner it came in welcome relief. For it was the first human voice he had heard since his capture.
“We want nothing from you, Cy Liskard,” it said. “We aren’t out to rob dead men. You’re about to be dealt with according to the laws of the Aurora Clan.”
The voice seemed to fade out rather than to cease speaking. Then the controlling figure at the tree-trunk gave a further sign. The two men standing ward of their prisoner withdrew on the instant, and with a jerk the rope tightened viciously about the prisoner’s neck.
The man writhed under the sudden pressure. He struggled fiercely. But every effort he made only caused a further tightening of the rope. In panic and complete and sudden despair, he ceased his struggles. And on the instant the rope relaxed, and the muffled voice came again.
“Your struggles are useless,” it said. “There’s no escape from the Aurora Clan. Our men are everywhere in the city, the valley, the forest, the plain. If you broke from us now, you’d be recaptured within an hour. Our purpose to-night is simple. To-night you die—unless you swear never to return to Beacon Glory. If you swear that you’ll be freed at once, and your goods and ponies will be handed back to you here and now. There’s no alternative. No woman in Beacon will ever be insulted by you again. We’ll see to that. Remember, if you ever return to Beacon your death will be instant. You can choose. You’ve two minutes in which to do so.”
The ballroom was a blaze of light. The raised boxes about the walls were crowded with resting couples refreshing themselves at the expense of their host. The band, which was more brazen than seemed necessary, was blaring out a fox-trot with a haunting melody, which seemed to be the joy of the heart of the uniformed man behind the slide trombone. The softer strings were almost drowned under his super-human efforts, and even the notes of the cornet were hard put to it to obtain a hearing.