“Come out from behind that door—hands up!”
At the same moment, the back window flew open with a bang and Bob's pistol covered the edge of the opened door. “Caliban” had rolled from his box like a stupid animal. Two of his patrons sat dazed and staring from Hale to the boy's face at the window. A mountaineer stood in one corner with twitching fingers and shifting eyes like a caged wild thing and forth issued from behind the door, quivering with anger—young Dave Tolliver. Hale stared at him amazed, and when Dave saw Hale, such a wave of fury surged over his face that Bob thought it best to attract his attention again; which he did by gently motioning at him with the barrel of his pistol.
“Hold on, there,” he said quietly, and young Dave stood still.
“Climb through that window, Bob, and collect the batteries,” said Hale.
“Sure, sir,” said the lad, and with his pistol still prominently in the foreground he threw his left leg over the sill and as he climbed in he quoted with a grunt: “Always go in force to make an arrest.” Grim and serious as it was, with June's cousin glowering at him, Hale could not help smiling.
“You didn't go home, after all,” said Hale to young Dave, who clenched his hands and his lips but answered nothing; “or, if you did, you got back pretty quick.” And still Dave was silent.
“Get 'em all, Bob?” In answer the boy went the rounds—feeling the pocket of each man's right hip and his left breast.
“Yes, sir.”
“Unload 'em!”
The lad “broke” each of the four pistols, picked up a piece of twine and strung them together through each trigger-guard.