Cassidy was again peering through the window, with his back toward him, and every muscle in the forest rover's body gathered for instant action.

In another moment he had flung open the door, and the watcher at the window whirled about to find himself looking straight into the muzzle of Jolly Roger's gun.
For several minutes after that last swift movement of Jolly Roger's, Peter lay where his master had left him, his eyes fairly popping from his head in his eagerness to see what was happening.

He heard voices, and then the wild thrill of Jolly Roger's laughter, and restraining himself no longer he trotted cautiously to the open door of the cabin.
In a chair sat the stranger with the broad-brimmed hat and high boots, with his hands securely tied behind him.

And Jolly Roger was hustling about, filling a shoulder-pack in the last light of the day.
"Cassidy, I oughta kill you," Jolly Roger was saying as he worked, an exultant chuckle in his voice.

"You don't give me any peace.