Then he slipped one of his revolvers into his coat pocket.
With the other weapon constantly covering his victims, with his gaze never leaving them, he slowly crouched down and groped over the ground till he had secured the plunder lying there, which he also dropped into his pocket.
Then he rose erect again, and drew his other weapon.
Nick was mentally praying for an opportunity to get just one shot at the knave when he resorted to flight.
The flight of the rascal, however, was as original and unexpected as his every other move had been.
“Now, Grady,” said he, with threatening austerity, “you do just what I tell you, neither more nor less.”
“Begorra! it looks as if I’d have to.”
“You bet you will!”
“What is it?”