“I got a shotgun,” said the Sheriff, a cold glint in his eyes, “and you’ll taste it if you get gay. So turn around there and set easy. We aint ready for you to talk yet awhile.” The boat was around the point and heading in for the shore. Hardrock, one hand on the tiller, swept her directly in toward the clearing, threw out the clutch, and after a moment threw it into reverse. With hardly a jar, the prow of the boat came into the ground a couple of feet from shore, weighted down as it was by the three prisoners. “Now, then,” ordered Fulsom, “you birds hop out and draw her up. Don’t any of you make a break, or I’ll pepper your hides!” * * * * * The big leader, with a growled oath, obeyed the order. There was no sand at the water’s edge, the beach being composed of small stones, which farther back ran into sand. The two Greeks likewise got out. The leader took the prow, each of the Greeks seized the gunnel, and they drew up the launch until the bow was on the shingle. “Now you, Hardrock,” commanded the Sheriff. “Never mind the guns--I’ll ’tend to ’em. Run over to my pile of stuff and fetch the handcuffs, will you?” “Sure.” Hardrock stepped past the Sheriff and jumped ashore. At the same instant, the big leader stooped; and the two Greeks shoved outward on the boat with all their power. Fulsom, caught unawares by the tremendous lurch of the boat, lost his balance, dropped the shotgun, and reeled for an instant. The leader hurled a chunk of rock that struck the staggering man squarely in the side of the head and sent him down like a shot. The whole thing passed off swiftly, neatly, with increditable precision and accuracy. Even as Hardrock whirled about from his spring, Fulsom was down and the launch was darting out twenty feet from shore. Then he found all three men on top of him. One of the Greeks came first, and went sprawling in the water as Hardrock’s fist met his face. The second Greek lunged in from one side, a knife in his hand, and took a kick under the chin that laid him senseless, but the leader was hurling himself forward and Hardrock could not evade. Caught in a burly grip, arms locked, both men went down, thrashing. Even then, had matters been equal, Hardrock would have won out, for with a twist he came up on top and rammed a fist into the scarred face--but just then the first Greek swung a stone that laid the man from Arizona prostrate. Dazed and almost senseless from the blow, Hardrock keeled over, and before he could recover he was pinned down under both opponents. “Tie him up!” growled the leader, and two minutes later Hardrock was bound hand and foot, while the Greek stooped over his unconscious comrade and the burly leader stood laughing and panting. He grinned down at Hardrock.