The door of the inner room opened, and there stood Sam, the darkey, with a cocked rifle in his hands.
“My faithful servitor and aide-de-camp, Mr. Broadcrook,” bowed Smythe.
“Did you have me covered a while ago?” asked Broadcrook sheepishly, addressing the negro.
“This here,” nodded Sambo, tapping the brass sight of the gun, “was sure right on a line wif dat bone button on your shirt.”
“I guess I’ll be goin’,” said Broadcrook hurriedly.
“Wait a minute,” advised Smythe. “Now, Broadcrook, I’m willing to play very decent by you providing you will answer me a few questions and answer them truthfully. All sin is contamination in my eyes; but lying,” Mr. Smythe raised his long hands piously, “—I do detest a liar.”
“Do you mean as you’ll gimme th’ powder an’ th’ lead, providin’ I answer you them questions?” asked Broadcrook eagerly.
“Yes, I will do that,” replied Smythe. “What I am anxious to secure is some information of the people among whom you live. Number of families in that lawless section, and all about the bunch. One or two I know already. I know your family some—that Hank fellow and the one you call Abe. Any more? What’s your first name—Joseph, ain’t it?”
“Not much, it ain’t. It’s Amos. Then I’ve got three more brothers. Tom, meanest skunk in the woods, Tom is. Hank he’s not much better’n Tom. And Alex, who claims as he’ll do fer me some day.”
“Nice loving sort of family, eh, Sambo?” sneered Smythe. “How about the old man, the father?”