Holt's monologue rambled on. He was garrulous and affable. Not for a
long time had he enjoyed himself so much.
"Better begin with Chief Big Bill," he suggested. "No, I wouldn't make
that move if I was you, Mr. Macy. This old gun is liable to go off
accidental in your direction and she spatters like hell. That's the
idee. Be reasonable. Not that I give a hoot, but a man hadn't ought to
let his impulses run away with his judgment, as the old sayin' is."
Gordon tied the hands of Big Bill behind him, then roped his feet
together, after which he did the same for Holway. The old miner
superintended the job and was not satisfied till he had added a few
extra knots on his own behalf.
"That'll hold them for awhile, I shouldn't wonder. Now if you'll just
cover friend chef with this sawed-off gat, Elliot, I'll throw the
diamond hitch over what supplies we'll need to get back to Kamatlah.
I'll take one bronch and leave the other to the convicts," said Holt
cheerfully.
"Forget that convict stuff," growled Macy. "With Macdonald back of us
and the Guttenchilds back of him, you'll have a hectic time getting
anything on us."
"That might be true if these folks were back of you. But are they?
Course I ain't any Sherlock Holmes, but it don't look to me like they'd
play any such fool system as this.
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