As Nick leaped aside he also turned.
The hobo who had fired the shot was already running toward him, and now he was endeavoring with every effort in his power to discharge the weapon again; but for some reason the mechanism of the lock refused to work, and in an instant more Nick had leaped upon him and grasped him a second time.
He was determined now that the fellow should have a lesson indeed; so while he held him at arm's length with one hand, he pummeled him with the other until his face was a mass of bruises; and then, when the yeggman was in a condition bordering upon insensibility, Nick raised him bodily from his feet, and holding him in his arms, ran with him down along the path toward the water.
And reaching the edge of the swamp, he threw him out into the muddy water, headfirst.
It was not deep, but it was filled with soft ooze, which filled the ears, and eyes, and nose, and mouth of the fellow, so that, when he rose to his feet, he was sputtering and spitting, and coughing and swearing when he could.
The detective left the man to make his way out of the water to dry land as best he could, and turned coolly away to rejoin Handsome, who approached at that moment, grinning.
"Well done, Dago," he said. "You served him just right. Come along."
They entered the scow without more words, and Handsome poled it away from the shore, and along the waterway through the almost impenetrable darkness—but there was never a word said about the use of the blindfold.
"How is this?" Nick asked, after a little. "Aren't you going to tie that handkerchief over my face again?"
"No. I ought to do it, I suppose, but it's too much trouble. Besides, you're all right. I can tell a man when I see one."