“Hands up!” he cried out harshly, “Quick!”
He did not have to speak twice. There was something in his voice, coupled with an emphatic gesture with the automatic, which made those six men, big and powerful as they were, obey him with remarkable unanimity.
“Take their guns, Jack,” continued Bainbridge, in that same commanding voice.
Peters stepped forward to obey. The first man drew back instinctively, and started to pull down the hand which held a revolver. Without an instant’s hesitation Bob fired. The bullet struck the upraised weapon on its blued-steel barrel, wringing a cry of surprise and pain from the fellow’s lips as he dropped the gun.
There was no more trouble after that, Peters collected four revolvers and two Remingtons. Then he glanced questioningly at Bainbridge.
“Throw ’em in the river,” the latter commander curtly. “’Way out in the middle, where they can’t be recovered.”
The riverman walked a few steps toward the bank; then, pausing, he glanced back at the straight young figure standing behind him.
“They’re mighty good guns,” he said hesitatingly. “Seems a shame to throw ’em away like this.”
Bainbridge returned briefly: “I’m simply pulling the stings of this gang.”
He watched his man fling the weapons, one after another, into the stream, and then, sending the automatic splashing after the others, he turned suddenly back to the six humiliated individuals before him.