Fred drew his Revolver, and the Guerrilla dropped from his horse.
"You miscreant you," exclaimed Calhoun, covering him with his revolver. "I ought to send a ball through your cowardly carcass, to be even with my cousin here; for he got two of you, while I only got one."
"Oh, mercy! mercy!" begged the trembling wretch. "I have a wife and children."
"You have; then so much the worse for the wife and children."
"I am not fit to die," he blubbered.
"That is plain to be seen," answered Calhoun. "Now off that horse!"
The fellow obeyed with alacrity.