"Drop that gun!" Indian Jake repeated. "I won't count. I'll shoot."
Eli's brain at last grasped the situation. Indian Jake was grinning broadly, and it seemed to Eli the most malicious grin he had ever beheld. He did not question Indian Jake's determination to shoot. It was too evident that the half-breed, grinning like a demon, was in a desperate mood. Eli dropped his rifle as though it were red hot and burned his hands.
"Step out here!" Indian Jake, rising to his feet, indicated an open space near the tent.
Eli did as he was told.
"Shake the ca'tridges out of your bag on the ground!"
Eli turned his cartridge bag over, and the cartridges which it contained rattled to the ground.
"Turn your pockets out!"
A turning of the pockets disclosed no further ammunition.
Indian Jake took Eli's rifle from the ground, emptied the magazine, and placed the rifle in the tent.