She returned his gaze with frank despair in her black eyes.
"Drake, do you surrender?" asked Hallisey.
"Oh, I'll give up. You've got me!" groaned the outlaw. Then he turned on his wife with bitter anger. "Didn't I tell ye?" he snarled. "Didn't I tell ye they'd get me if you kept me hangin' around here? These ain't no damn deputies. These is the State Police!"
"An' yet, if I'd known that gun was loaded," said she, "there'd been some less of 'em to-night!"
They dressed Israel's arm in first-aid fashion. Then they started with their prisoner down the mountain-trail, at last resuming connection with their farmer friend. Not without misgivings, the latter consented to hitch up his "double team" and hurry the party to the nearest town where a doctor could be found.
As the doctor dressed the bandit's arm, Private Merryfield, whose broken right hand yet awaited care, observed to the groaning patient:—
"Do you know, you can be thankful to your little children that you have your life left."
"To hell with you and the children and my life. I'd a hundred times rather you'd killed me than take what's comin' now."
Then the three Troopers philosophically hunted up a night restaurant and gave their captive a bite of lunch.
"Now," said Hallisey, as he paid the score, "where's the lock-up?"