Whether from fear or from the unparalleled surprise caused by hearing a human voice at such a time and in such a place, instead of obeying Billie's command, Strong's hands—for Strong it was—fell limp at his side and his electric torch fell to the stones beneath his feet.
"All right," continued Billy, "if that's the way you feel about it; but just remember that a single false move and I'll cut this automatic loose among your ribs. Now climb out a step at a time."
With face as white as marble at the shock he had just sustained, Strong obeyed implicitly and Billie was soon standing on the stone patio, looking Strong in the face.
"You're a good one, you are," he said sarcastically. "I should think you'd be ashamed to call yourself an American."
"What do you mean?" asked Strong in a trembling voice.
"Why, first of all, stealing from the bank, and then selling your own countrymen to the Mexicans."
"Who have I sold?"
"Do you mean to say that you didn't sell Gen. Funston to the greasers for ten thousand dollars?"
"Of course I do!" in a somewhat stronger voice.
"Perhaps you'll deny that you are Strong, the mountebank. You don't think for one minute that I don't know you in spite of your make-up, do you?"