I answered by drawing pistol out of belt, and shooting at the villain who had laid this ambush for me, but I missed him. Then I flew up the bank to an old tree, the nearest of the plantation. If I could get my back against it, there was a bare chance I might keep them all at bay for a short time, and the sound of firing might bring me help from Belshaw. I gained the tree, my pursuers close on my heels, but not firing. As I turned to face them, my foot slipped on one of the roots, and I fell backward against the tree with some force. With a great crunch, the bark gave way, and back I went into the hollow, jammed tight from rump to knees. Before I could work myself free, the men were on me. They disarmed, bound, and gagged me in no time, and then fell into great laughter at the ease of the capture. All three wore short cloaks with high collars, and had pulled their hats down over their brows, but I saw that one was Sheffield's big negro. Vliet lay down and roared with glee, and ended by rolling over near to me and spitting in my face. One of the others gave him a kick in the ribs, calling him "dunghill cock" in a voice I did not know. Vliet jumped to his feet, and drew his sword, but a cudgel fell like lightning on his wrist, disabling him for the present. "No more waste of time," said he who had struck the blow. "You, Mynherr, will go north as far as Belton, and home by your new embankment. If you are questioned, you will say that you met Mr. Vavasour here, intending to fight him, but before you could draw sword, he rushed up the hill, and disappeared in the plantation." "Backside first," one of the others threw in, laughing. The first speaker continued, "He disappeared, and you could find no trace of him. It is a short story, and can be remembered, even when one is muddled with strong liquor. If you don't stick to it, you will be dead meat soon. Now, stir your stumps." When Vliet had gone out of hearing, two of the men carried me through the plantation, on the other side of which ran the high-road. Here waited a fourth man in charge of a horse and cart. They bundled me into the cart, throwing sacks over me. I heard the man who had done all the talking say, "Two within hail in front, and one behind. Remember, you have nothing to do with me unless I whistle twice." So the director was my charioteer. By-and-by the jogging of the cart shook a piece of sacking from my face, and I could see the driver, a common labourer by his dress, with a fringe of ragged beard all round his face. He sat slouching forward, staring vacantly before him, as stupid as any lout in the Isle. As we rumbled through Epworth some one accosted him. "Cartin' o' Sunday! What hasta getten theer?" "Nobbut a half deead mon from Keadby for Doctor Hoggatt," was the reply. "Ah'd keeap ma distance, if ah wor theea, fur 'a smells loike t' plague tu meea." The hint sufficed to make the inquirer sheer off quickly.