“Now, you double-and-twisted yeller dogs!” he cried, “if you so much as wiggle your little finger, I will perforate both of you! I have the pleasure to inform you that I am a fancy pistol shot, and I think I can soak you with about six bullets each before you can say skat.”
The astounded ruffians were taken completely by surprise.
“What in blazes does you mean?” snarled Shawmut.
“I mean business,” declared the sailor. “Did you low-born whelps think that Cap’n Wiley would go back on his old side pard, Frank Merriwell? If you fancied such a thing for the fraction of a momentous moment, you deceived yourselves most erroneously. Now you keep still where you are, for I give you my sworn statement that I will shoot at the first move either of you make.”
As Wiley said this he stepped close to Frank, beside whom he knelt, at the same time keeping the ruffians covered. He placed one of the revolvers on the ground and drew his hunting knife. With remarkable swiftness he severed the cords which held Frank helpless.
“Pick up that shooting iron, Merry,” he directed. “I rather think we have these fine chaps just where we want them.”
Frank lost no time in obeying, and the tables were completely turned on Shawmut and Henry.
“Stand up, you thugs!” ordered Merry. “Stand close together, and be careful what you do.”
Infuriated beyond measure, they obeyed, for they were in mortal terror of their lives.
“Take those ropes, Wiley, and tie their hands behind their backs,” directed Frank.