I had not wrestled since I was a boy at school, and then never with such a spitting puzzle of live wires as Maga proved herself. I had the advantage of weight, but I had told her of my injured foot, and she worked like a she-devil to damage it further, fighting at the same time with left and right wrist alternately to reach pistol and knife.
I let go one wrist, snatched the pistol out of her bosom and threw it far away. But with the free and she reached her knife, and landed with it into my ribs. The pain of the stab sickened me; but the knowledge that she had landed fooled her into relaxing her hold in order to jump clear. So I got hold of both wrists again, and we rolled over and over among the bushes, she trying like an eel to wriggle away, and I doing my utmost to crush the strength out of her. We were interrupted by Will's voice, and by Will's strong arms dragging us apart.
"Catch her!" I panted. "Hold her! Don't let her go!"
"Never fear!" he laughed.
"Her men have kidnapped Gloria! Tie her hands!"
Will had two men with him, one of whom was leading my runaway horse.
They gazed open-eyed while Will tied Maga's wrists behind her back.
"Kagig—what will he say?" one of them objected, but Will laughed.
"What you do with me?" demanded Maga.
"Take you to Kagig, of course. Where's Miss Vanderman?"
Then suddenly Maga's whole appearance changed. The defiance vanished, leaving her as if by magic supple again, subtle, suppliant, conjuring back to memory the nights when she had danced and sung. The fire departed from her eyes and they became wet jewels of humility with soft love lights glowing in their depths.