“Spread, men! Don’t let one of ’em get out alive!” sounded Dave Fulsbee’s voice.
The scurrying steps of Fulsbee’s men could be heard apparently surrounding the thicket.
With an exclamation of rage, Black made a dash for freedom.
“Stand where you are, Black, if you want to live!” warned Dave. “No use to make a kick you rascals! We’ve got you covered, and the first man who makes a move will eat his breakfast in another world. Now, listen to me. One at a time you fellows step up to me, drop your weapons on the ground, where I can see you do it, and then come out here, one at a time. No tricks—-for, remember, you are covered by my men out here. We don’t want to shoot the whole lot of you up unless we have to, but we won’t stand for any fooling. Reade, you come through first. Any man who offers to hinder Mr. Reade will be sorry he took the trouble—-that’s all!”
His heart bounding with joy, Tom stepped through the thicket, going straight toward the sound of Fulsbee’s voice.
“I’ve got a knife in my left hand,” announced Fulsbee, as Tom neared him in the dark. “Turn around so that I can cut the cords at your wrists.”
In a moment this was done.
“You might stay here and help me,” whispered Dave. Tom nodded.
“Now, Black, you can be the first,” called Dave in a brisk, business-like tone. “Step up here and drop your weapons on the ground.”
Wincing under a bitter sense of defeat, ’Gene Black stepped forward. He was not really a coward, but he valued his life, little as it was actually worth. So he dropped a revolver to the ground.