"Then this is no joke?"
"You will find it is no joke."
"Well, I can't ride from this place to Elreno with my hands held above my head, as you must very well know."
"Of course you can't. I'll have to put the irons on you. Here, young man, hold this revolver to his head while I handcuff and search him."
He spoke to Cholly De Smythe, who had been watching, with staring eyes, his jaw dropped, and a look of amazement on his face.
"Haw?" squawked the dude, aghast. "What ith that you want, thir?"
"Take this revolver, and hold it to this boy's head. If he moves, shoot him as if he were a dangerous dog."
"Good gwacious!" gurgled Cholly. "I nevah touched a wevolver in awl my life! You will hawve to excuse me, thir."
"If you are determined to treat me as if I were a mad beast, I beg you to let some one who knows something about firearms handle that revolver," said the captive. "I will give you my word not to make any trouble if you lower the weapon."
"Your word does not count with me," declared the crafty detective. "I wouldn't trust you a second—not a second."