“I pretty near done you in last time, Langford. I’ll make good and sure next time,––you bet!”
“Oh, shut up!” exclaimed Jim, “you’re wearing your windpipe out talking.”
They half pulled McGregor and half dragged him to a nearby tree, to which they tied him securely, divesting him of his knife and other articles that they considered he might feel constrained to use.
He cursed them roundly, until Jim tied Red’s cravat round his mouth.
“Come on, boys! That’s good enough! We don’t want to take him along. If we don’t hurry up, that bunch may beat us to it yet.”
They reached the junction of the two roads without further adventure. Five minutes later, along came Morrison, Thompson, Deputy Chief Howden and Blair, with one more––an unrecognised––in their company.
“What did you catch?” asked Jim.
“Just little Stitchy Summers!” replied Howden. “We found him out for a constitutional, hoofing it for Vernock. Says he does it every morning early for the good of his health. So we brought him along.”
“We found a somnambulist, too,” said Jim, “Rob Roy McGregor. We tied him up at the roadside, in case he might wake up and hurt himself.”
“Foxy trick that all the same––one each way to make sure of one getting through!”