"What's that!" cried the colonel thickly.

His hand flew back to his belt. Then it dropped, limp at his side,
for he was gazing into the two barrels of a shotgun, which,
materializing over a rock, were pointing accurately and
disconcertingly at the pit of his stomach. From behind the gun
Captain Funcke's quiet voice remarked:

"I wouldn't, Colonel. As for you," he added, turning to the other
wayfarer, who carried a rifle, "you want to remember that a shotgun
has two barrels, usually both loaded."

Stepping forward, Average Jones "lifted" the financier's weapon.
Then he deprived Fred of his rifle amid a surprisingly brilliant
outburst of verbal pyrotechnics.

"Now we can talk business comfortably," he observed.

"I can't talk at all pretty quick if I don't git a moistener," said
Fred piteously.

Pouring out a scant cupful of water into his hat, Average Jones
handed it over. "Drink slowly," he advised. "You've got about a
hundred dollars' worth there at present quotations."

Colonel Richford's head went up with a jerk.

"Hundred dollars' worth!" he croaked, his eyes fiery with suspicion.
"Are you going to hold up two men dying of thirst?"