Nicol spoke not a word, but turning his horse, dashed forward in the direction whence the shots had come. As it fell out, it was the best thing that anyone could have done, for the robbers, not expecting any such assault, were preparing to fire again. As it was, the forefeet of the horse took one villain on the chest, knocking him senseless and well-nigh trampling the life out of him. A second gripped Nicol by the sleeve, and attempted to drag him from the saddle; which plan would doubtless have succeeded had not my servant, pulling the pistol (which was not loaded) from his holsters, presented it at the man’s head with such effect that the fellow in fear of his life let go and fled across the moor. By this time I had reduced my own animal to something like submission. I rode after Nicol and came up just in time to see the third man of the band (there were but three; for doubtless they trusted to their trap for unhorsing if not stunning us) engaged in a desperate struggle. Nicol had him by the throat with one hand and was endeavouring to squeeze the breath out of him, while he in turn had his opponent by the other arm, which he was twisting cruelly. Had my servant been on foot the matter would soon have ended, for the throat fared badly which those long wiry hands once encircled; but being on horseback he dared not lean forward lest he should lose his seat. My appearance settled it; for the robber, freeing himself at one desperate leap, made off at the top of his speed, leaving his pistols behind him. There remained but the one whom Nicol’s horse had deprived of his senses. Unfortunately the blow had not been a very severe one, for he was not long in coming to himself. There was some water in a little stagnant pool near at hand which Nicol dashed in his face, and in a little the man opened his eyes and looked up. At the sight of us he started, and the events of the past half hour came back to his memory. Then a look of sullen, obstinate anger came into his face, and he lay still, waiting for events to take their course. "Who are you?" I asked. He made no answer. I repeated the question several times, and still the man kept his silence. "Ye donnert scoondrel," cried Nicol, "tell us whae ye are, or ye’ll hang the morn on the gallows-hill at Leyden." Still the fellow would not speak. "Let’s tie him up," said Nicol, "and I’ll ride wi’ him on the horse afore me. He’ll get justice when we win to the toun." But this was not my policy. I had other things to think of than bringing marauders to trial. A sudden thought struck me. "I will try him another way," said I to Nicol. "Do you stand aside." The man lay on the ground where my servant’s horse had thrown him, with a belt round his legs, and his arms knotted together. I went up to him, and stood over. "Do you know who I am?" I asked sternly, in as tragic a voice as I could assume. The man stared sulkily, but did not speak.