“Lay still, naow!” said Abel Stebbins, the Doctor’s man; “‘f y’ don’t, I’ll stick ye, ’z sure ‘z y’ ‘r’ alive!  I been arfter ye f’r a week, ‘n’ I got y’ naow!  I knowed I’d ketch ye at some darned trick or ’nother ’fore I’d done ’ith ye!”

Dick lay perfectly still, feeling that he was crippled and helpless, thinking all the time with the Yankee half of his mind what to do about it.  He saw Mr. Bernard lift his head and look around him.  He would get his senses again in a few minutes, very probably, and then he, Mr. Richard Venner, would be done for.

“Let me up! let me up!” he cried, in a low, hurried voice,—­“I ’ll give you a hundred dollars in gold to let me go.  The man a’n’t hurt,—­don’t you see him stirring?  He’ll come to himself in two minutes.  Let me up!  I’ll give you a hundred and fifty dollars in gold, now, here on the spot,—­and the watch out of my pocket; take it yourself, with your own hands!”

“I’ll see y’ darned fust!  Ketch me lett’n’ go!” was Abel’s emphatic answer.  “Yeou lay still, ‘n’ wait t’ll that man comes tew.”

He kept the hay-fork ready for action at the slightest sign of resistance.

Mr. Bernard, in the mean time, had been getting, first his senses, and then some few of his scattered wits, a little together.

“What is it?”—­he said.  “Who’shurt?  What’s happened?”

“Come along here ’z quick ‘z y’ ken,” Abel answered, “‘n’ haalp me fix this fellah.  Y’ been hurt, y’rself, ‘n’ the’ ’s murder come pooty nigh happenin’.”

Mr. Bernard heard the answer, but presently stared about and asked again, “Who’s hurt?  What’s happened?”

“Y’ ‘r’ hurt, y’rself, I tell ye,” said Abel; “‘n’ the’ ’s been a murder, pooty nigh.”

Mr. Bernard felt something about his neck, and, putting his hands up, found the loop of the lasso, which he loosened, but did not think to slip over his head, in the confusion of his perceptions and thoughts.  It was a wonder that it had not choked him, but he had fallen forward so as to slacken it.

By this time he was getting some notion of what he was about, and presently began looking round for his pistol, which had fallen.  He found it lying near him, cocked it mechanically, and walked, somewhat unsteadily, towards the two men, who were keeping their position as still as if they were performing in a tableau.

“Quick, naow!” said Abel, who had heard the click of cocking the pistol, and saw that he held it in his hand, as he came towards him.  “Gi’ me that pistil, and yeou fetch that ‘ere rope layin’ there.  I ’ll have this here fella,h fixed ’n less ’n two minutes.”

Mr. Bernard did as Abel said,—­stupidly and mechanically, for he was but half right as yet.  Abel pointed the pistol at Dick’s head.

“Naow hold up y’r hands, yeou fellah,” he said, “‘n’ keep ’em up, while this man puts the rope mound y’r wrists.”

Dick felt himself helpless, and, rather than have his disabled arm roughly dealt with, held up his hands.  Mr. Bernard did as Abel said; he was in a purely passive state, and obeyed orders like a child.  Abel then secured the rope in a most thorough and satisfactory complication of twists and knots.