He had risen. Man and maid stared fiercely into each other's faces.
Behind them, Sillett stood quietly observant, but his right hand stole
down to his pocket.
"Hold up your hands!" he said sharply.
Jeff and the girl sprang apart. Sillett had levelled a pistol at the
deputy-sheriff, repeating his words with one addition: "_Quick!_"
Jeff raised his hands.
"He carries a 'gun,'" said Sillett to his daughter. "Take it from
him."
She obeyed. Her face was white as milk, but not with fear. The man who
held the pistol had ceased for the moment to bear any resemblance to
her father, but assuredly he was the defaulter whom Jeff Wells and the
sheriff sought. The expression upon his face revealed that, if nothing
else. Sadie removed the pistol and brought it to Sillett.
"In the hut, on a nail behind the door, is a piece of cord. Fetch it!"
She fetched it.
"Tie his hands behind his back. Tie 'em good and firm. Take your time.
Make a job of it. That's it. Now, then, hitch the loose ends round
that scrub-oak. That's right. Now go into the house, and slip into
your overalls. We'll be shifting camp in less than half-an-hour.
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