Matt avoided the lunge, and before the attack could be repeated the showman and the cowboy had reached the scene.
Then, even with all three of them against him, Dhondaram made a desperate resistance. But numbers prevailed, and the rascally scoundrel's hands were bound at his back by means of his turban, which was opened out and twisted into a makeshift rope.
"He's a fighter, and no mistake," panted Burton, as he held the prisoner by one arm while McGlory took the other. "No more nonsense, Dhondaram," the showman threatened, flashing the weapon in front of his eyes. "You see what I've got? Well, look out that I don't use it."
The six-shooter, dimly visible in the gloom, had a quieting effect on the Hindoo.
"Don't shoot, sahib," he begged. "I go where you want."
"That's better," said Burton. "Trot along, and we'll soon be where we're going."
Their destination was the train, and they presently had Dhondaram in the sleeping car attached to section two. Very few of the show people had arrived, as yet, and an attempt was made to get a little information out of the prisoner.
But the Hindoo would not talk. In response to every question put to him, he shook his head and held his tongue.
"He'll talk with us in the morning," said Burton confidently. "Just tie his feet, boys, and leave him here. I've got to go back to the ticket wagon."
Matt and McGlory made the prisoner's feet secure, and a tap on the window called Matt's attention. Thinking it might be Burton, wishing to give him a private message, Matt left the car.