He pressed the muzzle of the rifle closer against Petit’s ear to assure him that he was stating facts.
The argument was convincing. Petit looked perfectly diabolical, but he did not offer to put Tom’s repeated promises of blowing his head off to the test.
Dave came running back from the boat, breathless, with the painter in his hand.
“Make a slip knot in it,” ordered Tom, who had assumed control of the proceedings. It was his hand, and he meant to see it played.
“Put his hands behind his back!” he ordered, “draw it tight!”
George found himself obeying, without further question, the orders of the strange wild-looking youth, who seemed to have good and valid reasons for all he was saying and doing.
“Tighter!” cried the pirate captain; “draw it as tight as it will go. Don’t be afraid of hurtin’ him!”
“No,” said Dave who was buzzing round; “don’t trouble about him, he didn’t trouble about us, nor anybody else.”
“Now, Sour Krout,” cried Tom, when he had seen the murderer’s hands securely bound behind his back, “I’m goin’ to walk be’ind yer with this Winchester till I see you into the lock-up.”
Dan Creyton, recovering from his stupor, sat up on the leaves. The whole thing looked like a dream to him. He was trying to collect events and identities. George was on his knees beside him, inquiring if he were hurt.