Dick in his amazement stepped back, just one pace. Sharkey advanced, his high hands outstretched.
“Make no trouble, now. You know I am only doing my duty.”
“Duty be hanged,” cried Dick, as with a swift uppercut he caught his would-be captor on the jaw. Sharkey staggered, and Dick, with a right-arm swing, banged him on the temple, bowling him over like a ninepin.
Sharkey was soon on his hands and knees; then dazed and tottering, he got onto his feet again. But Dick was watchfully waiting, and with sharp jabs, right and left, sent him down once more. The sleuth lay motionless now.
Like a flash Dick grabbed the riata hanging from the saddle-horn of his pony, and without a moment’s loss of time had its coils around the arms and chest of the prostrate man, roping him like a thrown steer with all the skill of the trained cowboy. In a brief minute the knots were tied, and with the final clove-hitch the fallen Samson was turned over on his back. Sharkey’s eyes opened, glaring dully at his conqueror.
“You contemptible hound!” exclaimed Dick, as he tossed the loose end of the lariat from him. “By God, I’ve seen a few low-down things done in my lifetime, but this is certainly the limit. I suppose you would have betrayed me for the sake of the reward, even though you know now for certain that I was wrongfully arrested at the start. You damned Judas! You deserve to be hanged like a horse-thief, Leach Sharkey—that’s about your proper finish.”
And Dick in his righteous indignation glanced around as if in search of a convenient tree for the operation.
“I’ll give no further trouble,” mumbled Sharkey.
“It will be my particular care that you don’t,” replied Dick. “Get up, you hulking brute.” And grabbing the coils of the riata, he fairly lifted Sharkey to his feet.
“Now, I wouldn’t shame the pony by putting you on his back again. Follow me.”