His voice was hoarse and rasping, coming in jerks: "Get out of the way, Sanderson! Stand aside! I'll take care of these whelps! Get your hands up, Dale! Higher--higher! You damned, sneaking vulture! Come here to make trouble, eh?
You and your bunch of curs! I'll take care of you! Move--one of you! Move a finger! You won't! Then go! Go! I'll count three! The man that isn't going when I finish counting gets his quick! One--two----" "Wait!! Already on the move, the men halted at the sound of his voice.
The violence of the passion that gripped him gave him a new thought.
"You don't go!" he jeered at them.

"You stay here.

Sanderson, you take their guns! Grab them yourself!" Sanderson drew his own weapon and moved rapidly among the men.

He got Dale's gun first and threw it in the sand at the edge of the porch.
Then he disarmed the others, one after another, throwing the weapons near where he had thrown Dale's.
He heard Owen tell Mary Bransford to get them, and he saw Mary gathering them up and taking them into the house.
Sanderson made his search of the men thorough, for he had caught the spirit of the thing.

At last, when the guns were all collected, Owen issued another order: "Now turn your backs--every last man of you! And stay that way! The man that turns his head will never do it again! "Sanderson, you go after Williams and the others.