"Oh, yes, it is! Yes, it is my mix! Now just hand me that lil' old rifle
gun, Barr. Stock foremost."
Fighting against so doing but unable to help himself, Barr relinquished
his rifle. Ike threw it through the open door.
"Now, Pete," he coaxed, "I need your'n."
Pete remained rooted. Smiling, but with a deadly something behind the
smile, Ike tightened his finger on the shotgun's trigger.
"Don't like to shoot settin' pat'tidges, but I will."
Pete handed his rifle over. Ike tossed it out and slammed the door.
Holding the shotgun with one hand, he drew a length of buckskin from his
pocket and whipped it straight. He spoke as though he were addressing a
petulant child. "Now just put your hands behin't the chair, Barr. This
shotgun might go off accidental like, an' it makes quite a hole."
Tight-lipped, Barr did as he was ordered. Expertly Ike laced his hands
and then his feet. He approached Jeff apologetically.
"'Feard I'll have to tie you too, peddler."
"But--"
"Now don't gimme no fuss." Ike rubbed the friendly Pal's head. "Jest do
like Uncle Ike says."
Jeff thrust his hands behind the chair and permitted himself to be
bound. Ike slipped a rawhide thong through Pal's collar and tied him to
the chair rung. He stood erect and looked around, his manner that of one
who has just done a job and done it well.