Jim searched the prisoner carefully, and then, when a revolver and a knife had been thrown into the camp, Jet said:
"Now, stand directly behind him with your revolver pressed to the back of his head, and pull the trigger if you feel him move ever so slightly."
Jim was beginning to regain his courage, and obeyed without hesitation.
The amateur detective now came into view, and Bob literally gnashed his teeth in rage.
"I wish I'd known it was you," he cried, savagely.
"Be careful or your head will move so much my friend will shoot; his hand trembles so now that there's danger your brains will be blown out unintentionally."
On first entering the shanty, Jet had seen plenty of ropes with which to bind the prisoner, and these he brought out, lashing Bob's arms behind his back, and tying his legs securely together.
During this last operation, the prisoner struggled most desperately, for Jim's revolver had been lowered in order that he might assist his companion, and before the boys finally got him under subjection they were reeking with perspiration, in addition to being nearly tired out.
"Well," Jim said, triumphantly, as he rose to his feet, "that part of the work was done as slick as grease, and at this rate it won't take us long to wind the whole gang up."
"I'm afraid the hardest job is ahead," Jet replied, as a most unaccountable fit of gloominess came over him. "You know the other makes the third one, and superstitious people believe a fellow always comes to grief on that number."