“You can’t reload,” Silent said simply. “I’m a different breed from you, Greyhound. I give you back your life.”
Teddy and Roy stared at the man called Greyhound. He stood not less than six feet four, with huge shoulders and arms. Alone in that clearing he stood, defying them all. At least, Greyhound was not a coward.
“Drop that rifle,” Roy called sternly. “Drop it, and tell your men to come out here with their hands in the air!”
For a moment rage came over the face of the man. Then he shrugged his shoulders.
“What’s the use?” he muttered. “It’s over. Come out, boys—we’re done for. Leave the guns behind.”
He tossed the rifle carelessly to the ground. His eyes were fixed on Silent’s face.
“You ain’t goin’ to shoot?”
“No, Greyhound, I ain’t goin’ to shoot,” Silent replied slowly. “There’s others that you have to settle with. Roy, he’s your prisoner.”
One by one the bandits filed from the tent, their hands held high. Teddy counted five, including Greyhound. All were accounted for. The man who had been shot stood by the tent, groaning.
“Nick, search ’em,” Roy said. “Then let that baby who’s making all that noise sit down.”