The decisive moment had arrived, and only by the greatest exercise of will power could Jet prevent his hands from trembling violently.
Gently pushing the muzzle of the gun through the brush which formed the side of the hut, the boy waited until the man should be within a few feet.
Bob came on in a lounging fashion, looking back every now and then as if undecided what to do, and thus approached the shanty in the exact direction which best served the purpose of his would-be captor.
Not until he was within a couple of yards did Jet shout, as he pushed the muzzle of the gun farther out and took careful aim:
"Hold up your hands, quick! I shall fire at the first move you make."
Bob obeyed instinctively, as any other man would have done in the same position, with that ominous-looking barrel almost touching him.
"Now, remember that the slightest movement will cost you your life, for I shall let both barrels go if you do more than wink. I know what your reputation is, and don't intend to take any chances. Where are you, Jim?"
"Here," was the prompt reply, and Jet saw the small guide coming rapidly from his place of concealment.
"Stand on one side of that fellow so you won't spoil my aim, and take his revolver away. Be quick, and don't fear his hurting you, for he can't make but one move."
Bob scowled fiercely; but did not dare to offer any resistance. Perhaps if he had known who was behind that gun the case might have been different; but there was every reason to believe an officer held it, and he could not afford to run any risk.