Danby instantly raised his hands above his head. "I have no money on
me," he cried, evidently not recognising his opponent. "You may search
me if you like."

"Get down off your horse; don't lower your hands, or I fire."

Danby got down, as well as he could, with his hands above his head.
Strong had thrown his right leg over to the left side of the horse,
and, as his enemy got down, he also slid to the ground, keeping Danby
covered with the rifle.

"I assure you I have only a few dollars with me, which you are quite
welcome to," said Danby.

Strong did not answer. Seeing that the firing was to be at short range,
he took a six-shooter from his belt, and, cocking it, covered his man,
throwing the rifle on the grass. He walked up to his enemy, placed the
muzzle of the revolver against his rapidly beating heart, and leisurely
disarmed him, throwing Danby's weapons on the ground out of reach. Then
he stood back a few paces and looked at the trembling man. His face
seemed to have already taken on the hue of death and his lips were
bloodless.

"I see you recognise me at last, Mr. Danby. This is an unexpected
meeting, is it not? You realise, I hope, that there are here no judges,
juries, nor lawyers, no _mandamuses_ and no appeals. Nothing but a
writ of ejectment from the barrel of a pistol and no legal way of
staying the proceedings. In other words, no cursed quibbles and no
damned law."