Ramsay, in spite of the handcuffs, had drawn a revolver from a breast pocket, and Nick jerked it out of his hand.
“Don’t be a fool,” said Nick. “You might have been killed!”
An oath was Ramsay’s only response.
Nick, groping about under the frock coat, found another revolver in his prisoner’s hip pocket and a knife and sheath in the breast pocket.
Both weapons he abstracted and threw to the policeman who had jumped down, caught his horse, and was standing near, ready to lend a hand in case help was needed.
But Nick did not require assistance.
“It’s up to you, Carter,” said Ramsay. “You’ve got me and I cave.”
“Get up, then.”
Nick got off the fellow’s prostrate form, thrusting a hand through his arm.
The policeman picked up Ramsay’s hat and put it on his head, and Nick marched his man over to where Chick and Patsy were holding Gillman and Starlick.