Just then Larnigan jumped forward and thrust his hand into White’s pocket, where it was to be naturally supposed White carried a pistol.
“Draw on him!” said Cook to Smith.
Promptly as clockwork out came Bill Smith’s revolver. “Shall I shoot the s—— of a b——?” he asked.
“Yes, shoot him dead if he makes a move.”
Cook himself wore a tight-lacing military jacket at that time over his pistol pocket and was delayed in getting out his own gun. The crowd was disposed to take advantage of this state of affairs and to assist White and Larnigan out of their awkward predicament. The barkeeper started for his pistol which was lying on a convenient shelf, and the crowd rushed forward for the purpose of cutting off the retreat of the officers with their prisoner. Dave Cook’s blood was thoroughly aroused at this spectacle, and Bill Smith stood with teeth set as if to defy the entire gang. Still holding his prisoner with his right hand, Dave tore his coat open with his left, sending his military buttons flying with a bound in all directions. In an instant the barkeeper was covered by Dave, who still held on to his prisoner with his right hand. The crowd was still in an instant.
“Throw up your hands!” commanded Gen. Cook. “Every one of you!”
When Dave Cook gives a command under such circumstances as these, those who hear it obey it. A dozen hands flew instantaneously into the air. The victory was complete. The capture was made.
“Now search him,” he said to Smith, while he himself held his pistol over the thoroughly awed crowd. The first pocket into which Smith thrust his hand yielded up a paid of burglar’s nippers and five stolen watches.
“Do you want to see our warrant now?” demanded Cook.
“No,” replied White quite demurely, “I guess you’ve got proof enough. But,” he added, “don’t take me to Pueblo; they’ll hang me sure.”