"All right, then." Slowly he lowered the pistol, and handed it to
Purceville. "Let's see if you've got any of your father's gift for
deception." Their eyes met, though coldly, and both understood.
Together they crept back from the wall, then rose and moved to the
deeper shadows of a weather-worn tree, where they had left the horse.
Michael himself cut a length from the coiled rope, untied the knots he
had put in it for Mary's rescue, and fastened one end to the saddle.
"All right," he said. "Bind my wrists, before I change my mind. And
see that the knots are tight. If anyone examines them, I want it to
look real."
Purceville did as he asked, exactly, then remounted. All done in
silence, and without once looking into his face.
In silence also did he spur his mount, and lead the bound man, none
too gently, down the hill and onto the road that had swallowed the
women. And on to the garrison of men.