Bannister, standing jauntily with his feet astride as he looked out of the window, heard someone enter the room. “Did y’u bring round the horses?” he snapped, without looking round.
“No, we allowed they wouldn’t be needed.”
At sound of the slow drawl the outlaw wheeled like a flash, his hand traveling to the hilt of the revolver that hung on his hip. But he was too late. Already two revolvers covered him, and he knew that both his cousin and McWilliams were dead shots. He flashed one venomous look at the mistress of the ranch.
“Y’u fooled me again. That lamp business was a signal, and I was too thick-haided to see it. My compliments to y’u, Miss Messiter.”
“Y’u are under arrest,” announced his cousin.
“Y’u don’t say.” His voice was full of sarcastic admiration. “And you done it with your little gun! My, what a wonder y’u are!”
“Take your hand from the butt of that gun. Y’u better relieve him of it, Mac. He’s got such a restless disposition he might commit suicide by reaching for it.”
“What do y’u think you’re going to do with me now y’u have got me, Cousin Ned?”
“We’re going to turn y’u over to the United States Government.”
“Guess again. I have a thing, or two to say to that.”