“Hold him, Koku,” commanded Tom, and went to the derrick. He took a lantern off a peg, lighted it and returned. He set the lantern on the ground and pocketed his flashlight. Then he passed his hands lightly over Hankinshaw’s clothes and drew from the latter’s pocket a revolver, fully loaded. He broke the stock, took out the cartridges and threw the now useless weapon on the ground.
During this process, Hankinshaw fumed and frothed and burst out in imprecations, to all of which Tom paid not the slightest attention.
“Now put him down on the ground, Koku,” directed Tom.
The giant obeyed, and Hankinshaw found himself sitting on the ground with startling suddenness. He started to get up, but Koku’s hands on his shoulders put him back with a force that jarred him and made his teeth chatter.
“Better stay put,” warned Tom. “That man of mine doesn’t know how strong he really is, and if he grabs you again you’re apt to get hurt. It will be healthier for you to stay right where you are until I tell you to get up. Get me?”
Hankinshaw evidently did “get” him, and sat still, his face black with rage.
“This is an infernal outrage,” he shouted. “I’ll get even with you, and don’t you forget it. What do you mean by assaulting me in this way, you and your man? I’ll——”
A long string of threats and expletives followed. Tom let him rave, looking steadily at him the while until beneath the blistering contempt in his eyes Hankinshaw faltered, sputtered and tapered off into a confused and incoherent snarl.
“Are you through now?” asked Tom.
“Not through with you, by a long shot,” snarled Hankinshaw.