It was, as a matter of cold fact, unloaded; but Redisham in the depths of his funk could not know that. He lay and stared up at it goggle-eyed.
"Now," said the leader of the gang of roughs, "you're miles away from anyone here, so it's no use yelling. Get me? Take his mufflers off, Snyder."
The man addressed as Snyder elevated himself out of the gloom and came slowly forward. He undid the bandages that held Redisham in durance, and the fear-stricken senior sat up, chafing his legs.
"See here, younker!" It was the awesome chief speaking again. "Are your people worth much?"
"I—what do you mean?" spluttered Redisham.
"I means what I says!" said the fellow, in a low voice of concentrated fury. "Answer up, an' look slippy, or perhaps my finger'll slip on this 'ere trigger, and—"
"Please d-don't shoot!" quavered Redisham. "Do you mean have my people got much money?"
"Yes—have they?"
"Not very much—really."
"Crab apples!" cried the ferocious leader, angrily. "How much would they hand out to get you back, you miserable worm?"