l 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 mad