They were some of those who had been suspicious of me when the “test” of my good faith had been made, one of them being the young fellow who on that night had endeavoured to draw a statement from me by pretending that he had been arrested and had turned informer. He was the most vindictive of them all now; and while Barosa was still speaking, he broke in with a loud fierce oath, and, carried away by his rage, he drew his revolver and fired point-blank at my head. Barosa saw him and struck up his arm. “Marco!” he thundered. “Are you the sole judge?” “The dog shall die,” he growled, in a muttered snarl of hate; and the other two scowlingly agreed with fierce and savage oaths. Barosa turned on them, his eyes snapping with rage. “Do you follow your own lead or mine?” “He shall die,” said Marco sullenly, and was raising his revolver again when Barosa snatched it from him and flung it to the ground. All three quailed before his fierce look and masterful assertion of his leadership; and Marco fell back a couple of paces, his gaze at me more vengeful and bitter than before, as if I had been the cause of his humiliation. I could understand Barosa’s action. With men of this class among his followers his rule must be absolute and inflexible. Independent action, even when amounting to no more than an anticipation of his orders, could only be fraught with danger in such a cause as his; and for his own sake and that of the end he had in view, he was bound to exact literal and implicit obedience. For a few seconds there was dead silence. “Well, is it my lead or yours?” he asked them. There was no longer sign or sound of disobedience. “Pick up your weapon, Marco.” The young fellow obeyed and put it back in his pocket. “Now your decision?” he asked. “Death,” all three exclaimed together. “Bind his free hand,” he ordered next. But I was not going to submit tamely. I sprang to my feet and seized the chair. If I was to die it should be in hot blood, not like a sheep. “Resistance is useless, Mr. Donnington. You must see that.” My reply was not in words. I swung the chair up--it was a stout heavy wooden one--and struck at him with all my force. He jumped back and escaped most of the blow, but one of the legs struck him on the side of the head; and then a very hot five minutes followed. I laid the young fellow, Marco, senseless, and gave the other two something to remember me by before the chair was torn out of my grip, and I was seized and my right arm bound to my side and my legs lashed together. Barosa had kept carefully out of the fight, but as soon as I was helpless he saw that the cords were tied very securely. “Stand him against the wall there,” he said, indicating a spot at the foot of the bed. They placed me as directed and then drew back. He stooped over Marco, who was only stunned for the moment, drew the revolver from his pocket and handed it to one of the men. “You have yours,” he said to the other.