Yes, Leach Sharkey knew exactly how. And he also knew what the business end of a big revolver meant, with the forefinger of a daring bandit like Pierre Luzon on the trigger. He was handcuffed and helpless right enough in very short order. For the first time in his life the man who had so often slipped the bracelets on others, found the bracelets around his own wrists.
“Next I want ze key of ze handcuffs,” Pierre resumed. “Which pocket, please?”
Sharkey, with a downward thrust of his chin, indicated the waistcoat pocket.
“Zank you,” said Pierre, as he thrust in his fingers and produced the key. “Now, we will throw zis zing away”—as he spoke it went whizzing through the air—“and when you get home to ze rancho, ze blacksmith zere will set you free.”
“Oh, I’m going home, am I?” said the sleuth, considerably reassured.
“Yes, Pierre Luzon no longer rob or kill or break ze law. He keep his word of honor always. And I promised to bring Dick Willoughby to you tonight. Now I shall be true to zat promise, too.”
And through his teeth he blew a shrill whistle.
At the sound Dick Willoughby started up, and shook the ashes from his pipe. Following Pierre’s instructions, he led the two ponies along the little trail through the chaparral. Within five minutes he emerged on a broader trail, right at the spot where the Frenchman was standing.
“Hello, Pierre!” Then Dick’s eyes fell on Leach Sharkey, and at the very first glance he saw the shackled hands. “But what’s the meaning of all this?” he asked in bewildered surprise.
“It means zat you will take zis man down ze mountains. He came to arrest you, but you can tell him now zat you are one free man. You can show him ze paper which proves it was not you, but Don Manuel, who is responsible for ze death of young Thurston.”