"Mercy!" finally gasped Jounce, when he found that he had not strength sufficient to combat the man who was at his throat with murderous intent.
"You shall not live to thwart me, Perry Jounce," hissed Barkswell, as he pressed his companion in crime to the floor, and crushed his knee down upon his breast.
"Mercy!" again gasped Jounce.
"No. You would grant none to me. It would not be safe for me to permit you to live."
"But, hasn't I did my duty by you, pardner? Ef't hadn't been fur me Sile
Keene wouldn't a went under," uttered the helpless tramp, pleadingly.
There was no mercy in the heart of Andrew Barkswell, however. Jounce knew too much and was disposed to be dangerous, so he did not scruple to put him out of the way.
"Not a word, scoundrel," growled Barkswell, and with the words he drew a clasp knife from an inner pocket.
Again the fallen wretch gasped for mercy.
"You butted against the wrong man, Perry Jounce," muttered Barkswell, "when you attempted to frighten me from my plans. What is your life to me? No more than his, than that woman's. You must die."
The point of the knife touched the heaving bosom of the tramp, above the heart.