"Stand off, villain!" cried Maxwell, as he gave the mulatto a hearty
kick in the neighborhood of the knee.
"Very well, sir," said Hatchie, not at all disconcerted by the blow.
Taking the rope he had brought, he dexterously passed it round the legs
of the attorney, and made it fast to the tree.
"Now, sir, if you will tell which pocket contains the key, you will save
yourself the indignity of being searched."
"Miserable villain! if you wish to commit violence upon me, you must do
it without my consent."
"Sorry to disoblige you, sir," said Hatchie, with an affectation of
civility; "but I must have the key."
"I have not the key; it is lost. If I had, you should struggle for it."
"You will pardon me for doubting your word. I must satisfy myself."
"Help! help!" shouted the attorney, as his tormentor proceeded to put
his threat in execution.
This was a contingency for which Hatchie was not prepared. To the little
operation he was about to perform he desired no witnesses at present,
and a slight rustling in the bushes near him not a little disconcerted
him.
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