While he was thus musing a figure
sprang out of the bush and seized his bridle; at the same moment the
shining barrel of a pistol gleamed in his eyes.
'Surrender, fugitive duellist!' a powerful voice shouted.
'Dismount.' Roland did so; but move which way he would the weapon
still glittered in his face. As we have seen Roland had resolved that
there should be no more spilling of blood, else his courage and
dexterity might have enabled him to cope even with this daring
captor. He was astonished to see but one person present, and looked
around him for the others. But as his searching gaze could reveal
nothing but the sturdy figure at his side, and the gloom-wrapped
trees at the roadside, he began to reproach himself bitterly for not
having been more alert. It was bitter to think that after all the
excitement, strain and strategy of the morning, it should fall to his
lot to be trapped in this way in the darkness of the night.
He began to wonder that his companion gave no whistle or other call
for help, but remained silently standing upon the road, one hand upon
the horse's bridle, the other holding the menacing pistol.
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