He seemed listening to some noise in the distance, totally unconscious of my approach.

The man's fingers were nowhere near the trigger of his gun, and my straining eyes could perceive no sign of any other weapon.

This had to be silent work--silent and swift.

With one step forward I had my revolver pressed hard against his cheek, my other hand crushing his fingers to the musket.
"Keep quiet, man! Not a move! I'll blow your head off if you lift a hand!" "Oh! Good God!" He was but little more than a boy; I could see his face now under the slouch hat, and I had already frightened the life half out of him.
"Drop your gun! Now stand up!" He obeyed like an automaton, his brain seemingly paralyzed.

There was nothing to fear from this fellow, yet I knew better than to become careless--terror has been known to drive men crazy.