He swore and struggled, but he was powerless in her iron grip. In another minute the door of the cabin was suddenly burst open, and two armed men sprang upon him. More rapidly than the fact can be related, they snapped a pair of heavy steel handcuffs upon his wrists, pinioned his arms at his sides, and bound his knees together. Then, and not till then, Deb. Smith relaxed her hold. Sandy Flash made one tremendous muscular effort, to test the strength of his bonds, and then stood motionless. His white teeth flashed between his parted lips, and there was a dull, hard glare in his eyes which told that though struck dumb with astonishment and impotent rage, he was still fearless, still unsubdued. Deb. Smith, behind him, leaned against the wall, pale and panting. “A good night's work!” remarked Chaffey, the constable, as he possessed himself of the musket, pistol-belt, and hunting-knife. “I guess this pitcher won't go to the well any more.” “We'll see,” Sandy exclaimed, with a sneer. “You've got me, not through any pluck o' your'n, but through black, underhanded treachery. You'd better double chain and handcuff me, or I may be too much for you yet!” “I guess you'll do,” said the constable, examining the cords by the light of a lantern which his assistant had in the mean time fetched from without. “I'll even untie your knees, for you've to walk over the hill to the next farm-house, where we'll find a wagon to carry you to Chester jail. I promise you more comfortable quarters than these, by daylight.” The constable then turned to Deb. Smith, who had neither moved nor spoken. “You needn't come with us without you want to,” he said. “You can get your share of the money at any time; but you must remember to be ready to appear and testify, when Court meets.” “Must I do that?” she gasped. “Why, to be sure! It's a reg'lar part of the trial, and can't be left out, though there's enough to hang the fellow ten times over, without you.” The two unbound Sandy Flash's knees and placed themselves on each side of him, the constable holding a cocked pistol in his right hand. “March is the word, is it?” said the highwayman. “Well, I'm ready. Potter was right, after all; he said there'd be a curse on the money, and there is; but I never guessed the curse'd come upon me through _you_, Deb!” “Oh, Sandy!” she cried, starting forward, “you druv me to it! The curse was o' your own makin'--and I gev you a last chance to-night, but you throwed it from you!” “Very well, Deb,” he answered, “if I've got my curse, don't think you'll not have your'n! Go down to Chester and git your blood-money, and see what'll come of it, and what'll come to you!” He turned towards her as he spoke, and the expression of his face seemed so frightful that she shuddered and covered her eyes. The next moment, the old cabin door creaked open, fell back with a crash, and she was alone.