Jeff and the girl sprang apart. Sillett had levelled a pistol at the deputy-sheriff, repeating his words with one addition: "Quick!" Jeff raised his hands.
"He carries a 'gun,'" said Sillett to his daughter. "Take it from him."
She obeyed. Her face was white as milk, but not with fear. The man who held the pistol had ceased for the moment to bear any resemblance to her father, but assuredly he was the defaulter whom Jeff Wells and the sheriff sought. The expression upon his face revealed that, if nothing else. Sadie removed the pistol and brought it to Sillett.
"In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord. Fetch it!"
She fetched it.
"Tie his hands behind his back. Tie 'em good and firm. Take your time. Make a job of it. That's it. Now, then, hitch the loose ends round that scrub-oak. That's right. Now go into the house, and slip into your overalls. We'll be shifting camp in less than half-an-hour."
"Dad!"
"Well?"
"It's true, then?"
He smiled grimly.