He rounded the corner and was enthusiastically welcomed by the hungry Mr.Connors, whose ubiquitous guns coaxed from the skillet its dyspeptic wad.
"Th' saints be praised!" ejaculated Mr.Connors as a matter of form, not having a very clear idea of just what saints were, but he knew what flapjacks were and greedily overcame the heroic resistance of the one provided by chance and his own guns.

As he rolled his eyes in ecstatic content the very man Mr.Cassidy had warned him against suddenly arose and in great haste disappeared around the corner of the corral, from which point of vantage he vented his displeasure at the treatment he had received by wasting six shots at the mortified Mr.Connors.
"Steady!" sang out that gentleman as the line-up wavered.

"He's a precedent to hell for yu fellers! Don't yu get ambitious, none whatever." Then he wondered how long it would take the fugitive to secure a rifle and return to release the others by drilling him at long range.
His thoughts were interrupted by the vision of a red head that climbed into view over a rise a short distance off and he grinned his delight as Mr.Cassidy loomed up, jaunty and triumphant.

Mr.Cassidy was executing calisthenics with a Colt in the rear of Mr.Travennes' neck and was leading the horses.
Mr.Connors waved the skillet and his friend grinned his congratulations at what the token signified.
"I see yu got some more," said Mr.Cassidy, as he went down the line-up from the rear and collected nineteen weapons of various makes and conditions, this number being explained by the fact that all but one of the prisoners wore two.

Then he added the five that had kicked against his ribs ever since he had left the hut, and carefully threaded the end of his lariat through the trigger guards.
"Looks like we stuck up a government supply mule, Red," he remarked, as he fastened the whole collection to his saddle.