Serious as the case was, Gates could not help laughing at the naiveté of his Teutonic traveling companion.
“Mr. Highwayman,” he said, “I assure you it isn’t worth your while to rob me. My Dutch friend here is a great capitalist—a banker, I believe. Be content with what he will give you.”
Herr Schmidt was exasperated.
“That is one beeg lie,” he said. “I am only a poor saloon-keeper, with a few dollars which I made by selling lager. Let me go, and I will go home to meine Katrine.”
“Gentlemen,” said the highwayman, “I make no exceptions. You must all empty your pockets.”
“Stop a minute!” said Gates, and he suddenly drew a revolver from his pocket and pointed it at the robber.
The latter did not appear disconcerted.
“That won’t avail you,” he said.
“Why not?” asked Gates. “We are four to two.”
“We shall see.”