He went to bed in a gloating joy, which kept him awake a while; and it was during those wakeful moments that a memory of "Monte Cristo" suggested that he should gain a practical advantage from what had so far been merely an act of abstract justice.
It was past eleven when Tinker came riding over the hills at the head of his merry, but imaginary men.

Horribly hungry, but warmed by the sun to a quite passable malignity, the money-lender watched his coming from the top of the tower, pondering how to catch him and thrash him within an inch of his life.

He did not know that far more active men than he had cherished vainly that arrogant ambition, but Tinker's cheerful and confident air afforded little encouragement to his purpose.
"Halt!" cried the robber baron, reining up his pony.

"Hans and Jorgan, is your captive safe?
Good.

Bring him forth." He turned to his invisible band.