“We must fly, my dear friend Gus,” said Tony, “for now they will come—those other two!”
“We will stay right here and give them a pleasant reception,” said Gus. “I will watch on the path, Tony. You take this gun. But first get a rope, quick! Tie that chap’s arms behind him and search him for automatics, or anything.”
It was but the work of a few minutes. Malatesta seemed to hesitate about coming to his senses. This was a good thing for the success of the subsequent capture; for the elder brother might have called out and warned his two confederates.
Gus told Tony to guard the far side of the cabin and arranged that either must come at the call of the other. They must shoot only when sure.
Back came the younger Malatesta, their better known enemy. From behind a bush Gus poked his shotgun muzzle into the fellow’s ribs, told him to drop his rifle and stick up his hands. As he did this, he uttered a frantic yell of warning. Then he, too, was seized and bound.
They waited long and eagerly for the American accomplice. Would he sneak through the woods and try to surprise them? To guard against this, Gus left Tony with the two prisoners, thus reversing the conditions under which he had lately been held. There was no glee, no revengeful spirit shown by the fine-minded Italian youth, but a keen sense of satisfaction and determination glowed in his eyes.
Gus scoured the woods, hoping to find the accomplice, who would not recognize him as an enemy. But the fellow was gone. It was an easy thing for him to hide there—but not so easy to get away altogether, past the cordon of police now swarming over the peninsula. But he did get away, for he was never heard of again.