Ian
knew them at a glance for those brigands of whom he had heard mention
and warning enough. Don Fernando had once described their practices.
Resistance was idle. He chose instead a genial patience for his
tower, and within it keen wits to keep watch. With his horse he was
taken by the fierce, bedizened dozen up a gorge to so complete and
secure a robber hold that Nature, when she made it, must have been in
robber mood. Here were found yet others of the band, with a bedecked
and mustached chief. He was aware that property, not life, answered to
their desires. His horse, his fine cloak, his weapons, the small mail
and its contents, with any article of his actual wearing they might
fancy, and the little, little, little money within his purse--all
would be taken. All in the luck! To-day to thee, to-morrow to me. What
puzzled him was that evidently more was expected.
When they condescended to direct speech he could understand their
language well enough. Nor did they indulge in over-brutal handling;
they kept a measure and reminded him sufficiently of old England's own
highwaymen. Of course, like old England's own, they would become
atrocious if they thought that circumstances indicated it. But they
did not seem inclined to go out of their way to be murderous or
tormenting. The only sensible course was to take things good-naturedly
and as all in the song! The worst that might happen would be that he
must proceed to France afoot, without a penny, lacking weapons, Don
Fernando's cloak--all things, in short, but the bare clothing he stood
in.
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