"Now, my friend! Take that bridle from the peg at your hand and fasten your ankles together. What!—you hesitate?"
Malsain hissed something between his teeth, and snatched the bridle from the peg.
"Go on! A running knot—lap it well round, and finish off! There!
That is right! You are no novice, I see, mon vieux!"
Malsain made no answer, but stood bolt upright before Pierrebon, his face grey, his one eye bloodshot, his lips livid. It is true that he had tied himself as loosely as possible, but still he was terribly crippled; and from his soul he regretted that he had not made a rush at Pierrebon, and chanced his fortune; but now this was hopeless.
Worse, however, was to come, and it came at once.
"Now," said Pierrebon, "fasten your wrist to your ankle—your left wrist."
"It is impossible," said Malsain thickly.
"Then I shall blow your brains out when I have counted three. One!"
Malsain looked about him with his red eye, and shuffled uneasily.
"Two!"