“All together, now!” howled Basset.
“One, two—”
CHAPTER X
As the shot rang out, Jimmy Basset jumped into the air, then stood staring at his arm that dripped blood. A voice struck on the silence—a voice from the edge of the trees.
“All right, boys—hands up all around! Sheriff Fulsom talking, and two guns to talk with. First man moves gets a bullet in the leg.”
That crisp, businesslike voice bit into their drunken senses like acid. Hardrock lay where they dropped him. Sheriff Fulsom stepped forward into the circle of light, a pistol in each hand, and not one of the islanders moved, after reaching upward.
“Cut loose that man Hardrock and do it durned quick. He’s a Deputy Sheriff of this county, if ye want to know who he is. Cut him loose, Willy John. Move sharp.”
One of the men stooped and fumbled with Hardrock’s bonds. They were all struck silent and were held in a stupefaction of dismay and consternation by the appearance of Fulsom, whom they all knew. A sudden and terrible sanity crept upon them.
“You boys are shoving a good thing too far,” continued Fulsom. “Hardrock and me got them murderers, and then they jumped us. Lucky I aint as soft in the head as I look to be, for a fact! Took me quite a spell to get ashore and come back here, at that. H’are ye, Hardrock?”
“All right,” said the latter, getting to his feet.