"Put your hands down, just one at a time," continued Hyman. "Terry, you take Corporal Minturn first and iron him."
Click! Snap! Minturn was in no position to do further harm.
It was Hooper's turn next. That big fellow was utterly cowed and began to talk rather whiningly.
"Hold your tongue!" commanded Noll angrily.
Then he went over and ironed Dowley, who, still sullen, was capable, while free, of becoming suddenly more dangerous than either of his companions.
"I reckon Minturn fixed your bunkie for good, anyway. I hope he did," Dowley ground out between his closed teeth.
"I'm sorry I've got the handcuffs on you," flared Noll; "If your hands were free I'd enjoy pounding you all over the floor!"
"Take off the links, then, and try it," sneered Dowley.
"Hold your tongue, you dog!" barked Private Hyman.
"Oh, you're a brave man, when you've got the other crowd in irons," spat out Dowley sneeringly.