Orrain. S. Levett Yeats
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!"
Malsain swore again, a nameless oath.
"Th——"
Malsain stooped down with the rapidity of lightning, and began fumbling with the yard or so of trailing rein.
He tried to deceive Pierrebon; but the candle gave enough light to see, and Pierrebon was sharp. There was no help for it, and at last it was done, badly done, but enough to utterly cripple Malsain. The final order now came:
"Now lie down on your face."
This was difficult; but there are circumstances under which men do all but impossible things, and Malsain performed the feat.
After this the worthy Pierrebon took a more active part in the binding of Malsain. Still holding the arquebus in one hand he unhitched another bridle from its peg. Then, placing the arquebus at his feet, he drew his dagger and approached Malsain, upon whom he sat, and with a gentle prick or so reminded him it was unsafe to struggle or cry. He fastened up his free arm, and finished off the work in an artistic manner. When it was over Malsain was like a trussed fowl. Pierrebon stepped back, and surveyed his work with the satisfaction of one who knows that he has done well.
"Ah, I had forgotten!" he exclaimed. Then he pulled from his pocket a 'kerchief. A touch at Malsain's throat with his poniard was hint enough. Malsain opened his mouth, and the handkerchief, rolled into a ball, was thrust inside.
Pierrebon fumbled once more in his pocket, and produced some stout twine. He gave a little grunt of satisfaction as he lashed it around Malsain's jaws, and felt at last that victory was his.
"It is complete—eh, mon vieux?"
And so saying he dragged Malsain with no tender hand across the pavement of the stable. There was a black, vicious-looking cob in one of the stalls. Pierrebon flung his victim on the straw near the beast. "I should lie still," he said in warning; "the horse might kick."
Then he saddled up again, calmly selecting a third horse from the stable, from a stall where he saw some ladies' saddlery.
"This will do for mademoiselle," he muttered as he glanced around him with satisfaction; "all is ready here. And now for the ogre." Taking up the arquebus he looked at the priming, and made his way cautiously to the house.
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