“Matter enough! Too much rest cure, I guess. Forgot to remove the safety catch on this gat you gave me. Lucky you fired when you did.”
“Well, never mind that now,” Bill’s words were crisp and to the point. “Grab that clothesline and tie their hands behind their backs. That’s right! Dorothy, will you give first aid to that fellow’s wrist? I’ll see that they don’t play any tricks.”
After securing the men, Terry searched their clothes and produced two revolvers and a wicked looking knife. He also took a ring of keys from Peters.
“Gee!” exclaimed that gentleman. “If it ain’t the girl what blame near kicked me teeth out I’ll eat me bloomin’ hat!”
“You’ll eat skilly in Wethersfield Prison, or Atlanta, before you get through,” Terry promised. “Shake a leg—both of you. Down to the cells for yours. Did you ever realize what a swell difference there is between the titles of jailer and prisoner? March!”
“Wait a minute!” Dorothy cut in. “I’ll help you take this man along, too. I’ve done all I can for him. It’s a clean hole through his wrist. Bone’s broken but the bullet missed the artery. He might be worse off.”
Bill spoke from the doorway that led into the rest of the house. “While you’re gone I’ll search this place for any other members that might otherwise be overlooked!”
After housing the smugglers in cells, Dorothy and Terry returned to the kitchen and were surprised to find Bill speaking over the telephone.
“And that’s that, Dad,” they heard him say. “Spread the good tidings in proper places and make it snappy, please. Bye-bye!”
He placed the receiver on its hook.