His eyes fixed upon the bandit's ugly features, still puffing his cigar and with hands in his pockets he walked deliberately past Patsy and Beth and straight up to the muzzles of the revolvers.
"Stop!" cried the Mexican; and again: "Stop!" Wampus stopped when one revolver nearly touched his nose and another covered his body.

Slowly he drew one hand from his pocket and grasped the barrel of the nearest weapon.
"Let him go," he said, not raising his voice.

The man stared into the little chauffeur's eyes and released his hold of the revolver.

Wampus looked at it, grunted, and put it in his pocket.
"Now the other gun," he said.
The fellow drew back and half turned, as if to escape.
"No, no!" said Wampus, as if annoyed.

"You give me gun.