"Brute!" I gasped again, "you're killing me."
"Nay, not yet, methinks," quoth he, biting his lip and gloating o'er my agony. "Hold you his left hand, and gi' me a pistol, Dick," he added, with another cruel jab that fairly made me groan.
The other, who had withdrawn my weapons, hasted to obey, and next moment I was staring up the barrel of a pistol which threatened me between the eyes.
"Make one sound," hissed my tormentor savagely, "and there's a bullet through your head in no time."
His face endorsed the statement, and certainly I was not going to put it to the proof. At least his knee had left my chest, and for so much I was more than thankful. I took a long, deep breath, then gazed at each of them intently, as they knelt beside me, holding down my hands and threatening me with pistols--and those, alas! my own. Both were as ill-favoured, wicked-looking rascals as one could hope to see, armed with swords and knives, hired desperadoes fit for anything. In truth, things had an ugly look enough, but I was minded to know something of my future fate if it were possible.
"Well, and what next?" I asked.
"You come with us," said he who had been kneeling on me.
"Ah! and where to?"
"Where bidden and where led."
"Who sent you on this business?"