Blicky laid a restraining hand upon Gulden's broad shoulder.
“Turn round!” repeated Gulden, without the slightest sign of noticing his colleagues.
But the youth understood and he turned a ghastly livid hue.
“For God's sake—don't murder me!” he gasped. “I had—nothing—no gold—no gun!”
Gulden spun him round like a top and pushed him forward. They went half a dozen paces, then the youth staggered, and turning, he fell on his knees.
“Don't—kill—me!” he entreated.
Joan, seeing Jim Cleve stiffen and crouch, thought of him even in that horrible moment; and she gripped his arm with all her might. They must endure.
The other bandits muttered, but none moved a hand.
Gulden thrust out the big gun. His hair bristled on his head, and his huge frame seemed instinct with strange vibration, like some object of tremendous weight about to plunge into resistless momentum.
Even the stricken youth saw his doom. “Let—me—pray!” he begged.