“She’ll shoot me before she means to,” he said, with a little gasp. “Come and take the condemned pistol.”
“Der middle of him!” said Muller tranquilly. “No movement make, you!”
Dropping the fork he moved forward, not in front of the man, but to his side, and whipped the pistol from his belt.
“One turn make,” he said. “So! Your hand behind you. Lotta, you will now a halter get.”
The girl’s loose bodice rose and fell as she laid down the rifle, but she was swift, and in less than another minute Muller had bound his captive’s hands securely behind his back and cross-lashed them from wrist to elbow. He inspected the work critically and then nodded, as if contented.
“SHE’LL SHOOT ME BEFORE SHE MEANS TO.”—Page 66.
“Lotta,” he said, “put der saddle on der broncho horse. Then in der house you der cordial find, und of it one large spoonful mit der water take. My pipe you bring me also, und then you ride for Mr. Grant.”