anger's horse. The
horseman struggled in Zmai's great arms, and his beast plunged wildly. No
words passed. The rider had kicked his feet out of the stirrups and
gripped the horse hard with his legs. His arms were flung up to protect
his head, over which Zmai tried to force the sack.

"The knife?" bawled the Servian.

"No!" answered Chauvenet.

"The devil!" yelled the rider; and dug his spurs into the rearing beast's
flanks.

Chauvenet held on valiantly with both hands to the horse's head. Once the
frightened beast swung him clear of the ground. A few yards distant
Durand sat on his own horse and held the bridles of the others. He
soothed the restless animals in low tones, the light of his cigarette
shaking oddly in the dark with the movement of his lips.

The horse ceased to plunge; Zmai held its rider erect with his left arm
while the right drew the sack down over the head and shoulders of the
prisoner.

"Tie him," said Chauvenet; and Zmai buckled a strap about the man's arms
and bound them tight.

The dust in the bag caused the man inside to cough, but save for the one
exclamation he had not spoken. Chauvenet and Durand conferred in low
tones while Zmai drew out a tether strap and snapped it to the curb-bit
of the captive's horse.

"The fellow takes it pretty coolly," remarked Durand, lighting a fresh
cigarette. "What are you going to do with him ?"

"We will take him to his own place--it is near--and coax the papers out
of him; then we'll find a precipice and toss him over. It is a simple
matter."

Zmai handed Chauvenet the revolver he had taken from the silent man on
the horse.

"I am ready," he reported.

"Go ahead; we follow;" and they started toward the bungalow, Zmai riding
beside the captive and holding fast to the led-horse. Where the road was
smooth they sent the horses forward at a smart trot; but the captive
accepted the gait; he found the stirrups again and sat his saddle
straight. He coughed now and then, but the hemp sack was sufficiently
porous to give him a little air. As they rode off his silent submission
caused Durand to ask:

"Are you sure of the man, my dear Jules?"

"Undoubtedly. I didn't get a square look at him, but he's a gentleman by
the quality of his clothes. He is the same build; it is not a plow-horse,
but a thoroughbred he's riding. The gentlemen of the valley are in their
beds long ago."

"Would that we were in ours! The spring nights are cold in these hills!"

"