“Just suppose you hand over that pistol, Hump,” remarked Dod Hunter, blandly; “it’s not going to be of any use to you just now. Shucks! man, but you do let your temper git a terrible holt on ye,” as the discomfited Muirhead turned toward his neighbor with a savage grinding of his teeth, but with no movement toward giving up his pistol.
“Here, Tom,” called Dod, to one of his sons, “Hump wants you to holt his pistol awhile.” And the pistol dropped to the floor with a crash, but fortunately was not discharged in the fall.
“You’re dreadful keerless, Hump,” Dod said smiling, “that might hev sent ye to kingdom come.” And picking up the pistol he handed it to his son.
“I’ll have it out of every one of you for breaking into my house,” snarled Humphrey. “Here, you, what are you staring at? Take those young uns out,” and he turned menacingly to his wife who retreated to the back room, the children straggling after her, all but Honey, who refused to leave the arms which held him.
“Shucks! Hump, I’d like to know if nabbing a man ain’t as bad as breakin’ into a house. Perhaps you’ll call it quits on that,” suggested Dod.
“Who said I nabbed any one?” questioned Humphrey.
“Park Willett was found bound and drugged on your premises.”
“What proof have you that I did it?”
“Oh, well, when it comes to that, I suppose there isn’t anything more than the fact. I suppose he might have done it himself just for fun, might have crawled in through the keyhole and tied himself up to see how it would feel.”
“How do you know he is not a criminal, and that I am acting for the law?”