Ah! Would you?" He
frustrated a hostile move on the part of the other by pressing the cold
muzzle against his forehead. "Lay quiet, now! If you lift as much as a
hair, you'll get it."
It was rather an awkward task, with the trigger of the gun always within
pulling distance of the finger; but Kent was a weaver, and in a few
minutes had the sailor tied hand and foot. Then he dragged him without
and laid him by the side of the cabin, where he could overlook the river
and watch the sun climb to the meridian.
"Now I'll give you till noon, and then--"
"Wot?"
"You'll be hitting the brimstone trail. But if you speak up, I'll keep
you till the next bunch of mounted police come by."
"Well, Gawd blime me, if this ain't a go! 'Ere I be, innercent as a
lamb, an' 'ere you be, lost all o' your top 'amper an' out o' your
reckonin', run me foul an' goin' to rake me into 'ell-fire. You bloomin'
old pirut! You--"
Jim Cardegee loosed the strings of his profanity and fairly outdid
himself. Jacob Kent brought out a stool that he might enjoy it in
comfort. Having exhausted all the possible combinations of his
vocabulary, the sailor quieted down to hard thinking, his eyes constantly
gauging the progress of the sun, which tore up the eastern slope of the
heavens with unseemly haste.
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