“All right,” said Denny. “You are twelve men against one. Maybe I can’t arrest you to-night, but I’ve got your names.”
In a few moments they had exposed the pipe, which was not buried deep. Then O’Brien knelt and sawed it through in two places, and cast the section at Denny’s feet.
“There!” he said. “How d’ye like the looks of that, Mr. Constable? And now, so’s you won’t follow us and see where else we operate, we’ll just tie you up for a while.”
“You fellows will be piling up trouble for yourselves,” Denny warned them. “Murphy and Conway, there—you ought to have more sense.”
One of these two men, Murphy, spoke in a low voice, unwillingly:
“I guess maybe we’d better quit. If he reports us—”
“He ain’t going to report us!” interrupted O’Brien. “He don’t dare. Come, boys, get a-hold of him, and we’ll tie him up—”
He advanced a step toward Denny, and in the same instant Denny drew a revolver and leveled it at O’Brien’s head.
“Don’t lay a hand on me,” he said, quietly.
“Get behind him and grab him, somebody!” shouted O’Brien. “Spread out and get round him.”