Rollings Sank to the Deck in a Huddled Heap.
"A man with no more nerve than you have should not try to loot a bank," growled the officer, as he snapped handcuffs onto the wrists of the seemingly palsied wretch.
The other deputy was on board, by now, and other members of the boarding party were coming up fast. Mr. Jephson was among the foremost of them.
"Come forward to the bridge," he called, now taking charge. "We'll take command of this whole craft. Deputy, make it your whole business to prevent your prisoner from getting away. Hold on to him, but come forward with us."
The same uniformed, bearded man appeared suddenly around the pilot house as the party swept forward along the port side of the yacht. Rollings, his knees doubling under him, had to be dragged.
The uniformed man suddenly raised a rifle, shouting:
"Stand by, men! We'll put a stop to this nonsense!"
"Drop that gun, or we'll open fire on you!" shouted Mr. Jephson, sternly.
The boarding party moved swiftly forward. Behind the captain stood a mate and four or five seamen, all looking irresolute. Of a sudden the mate wheeled, throwing a rifle over the rail at starboard. The seamen with him instantly followed his example.
Even the bearded captain had lowered the muzzle of his rifle. It is easier to be brave on the side of the law than against it.