opped and Gardley's hand went to his revolver, while
his other hand lifted the silver whistle to his lips; but four guns
bristled at him in the twilight, the whistle was knocked from his lips
before his breath had even reached it, some one caught his arms from
behind, and his own weapon was wrenched from his hand as it went off.
The cry which he at once sent forth was stifled in its first whisper in
a great muffling garment flung over his head and drawn tightly about his
neck. He was in a fair way to strangle, and his vigorous efforts at
escape were useless in the hands of so many. He might have been plunged
at once into a great abyss of limitless, soundless depths, so futile did
any resistance seem. And so, as it was useless to struggle, he lay like
one dead and put all his powers into listening. But neither could he
hear much, muffled as he was, and bound hand and foot now, with a gag in
his mouth and little care taken whether he could even breathe.

They were leading him off the trail and up over rough ground; so much he
knew, for the horse stumbled and jolted and strained to carry him. To
keep his whirling senses alive and alert he tried to think where they
might be leading him; but the darkness and the suffocation dulled his
powers. He wondered idly if his men would miss him and come back when
they got home to search for him, and then remembered with a pang that
they would think him safely in Ashland, helping Margaret. They would not
be alarmed if he did not return that night, for they would suppose he
had stopped at Rogers's on the way and perhaps stayed all night, as he
had done once or twice before. _Margaret!_ When should he see Margaret
now? What would she think?

And then he swooned away.

When he came somewhat to himself he was in a close, stifling room where
candle-light from a distance threw weird shadows over the adobe walls.
The witch-like voices of a woman and a girl in harsh, cackling laughter,
half suppressed, were not far away, and some one, whose face was
covered, was holding a glass to his lips. The smell was sickening, and
he remembered that he hated the thought of liquor. It did not fit with
those who companied with Margaret. He had never cared for it, and had
resolved never to taste it again. But whether he chose or not, the
liquor was poured down his throat. Huge hands held him and forced it,
and he was still bound and too weak to resist, even if he had realized
the necessity.

The liquid b