She paused and hastened to say:
“You must not hurt him, Frank. He is taking me to my father.”
“He has lied to you from start to finish, like the treacherous snake he is,” asserted Merry. “He doesn’t mean to take you to your father.”
Then he advanced two steps, and another command came from his lips.
“Face about, Joaquin,” he said, “and walk straight toward that wall. Be quick about it, too.”
Now, for all of the complaints of his followers that he seldom placed himself in danger, Black Joaquin was not a coward. Nevertheless, in those terrible, gleaming eyes of the American youth he had seen something that robbed him of his usual nerve and convinced him beyond doubt that unless he obeyed to the letter he would be shot on the spot. This being the case, he turned as directed and advanced until his face was against the wall.
“Stand thus,” said Frank, “and don’t move for your very life.”
One glance around showed him a blanket upon a couch. Behind Joaquin’s back he quickly took out and opened a knife.
“Here, Felicia, take this and cut that blanket into narrow strips. Hasten as much as possible.”
She was, however, too trembling and excited to make the needed haste. Seeing this, Frank lost no time in searching Joaquin’s person and disarming him, removing every dangerous weapon he found upon the man.