“I hope he won’t have to.”
“Look out, Pipe, this fellow is coming round.”
The man’s breast heaved, and a faint groan issued from his lips, following which his eyelids fluttered a bit and then lifted slowly. He lay there staring dumbly at the two boys, each of whom menaced him with a loaded pistol. For the time being he did not seem to realize what had happened.
“It’s no use to try to kick up,” Piper stated warningly. “We’ve got you, and we’ll have to plug you if you try any tricks.”
Slowly comprehension seemed to creep into the man’s brain, and presently he made a weak effort, as if trying to sit up, but fell back with a smothered cry that ended in a groan.
“It’s pretty tough,” said Piper; “but you’ll have to make the best of it, my man. Fellows engaged in your line of business have to take their medicine when they run afoul of calamity. What’s your name?”
Until Sleuth had repeated this question three times the man made no attempt to reply. After the third demand he growled falteringly and harshly:
“None of your business.”
“Thanks,” said Piper. “I guess your picture is in the rogues’ gallery somewhere, and your identity will be learned all right when you’re placed on trial. We’ve disarmed you so you can’t make any sort of a fight of it, and we’re going to take you back to Oakdale. Our great regret is that you’re not Gentleman Jim.”
The man looked at them queerly. “Who’s Gentleman Jim?” he growled.