Watson wheeled upon him.
“You swear you won’t shoot anybody,” he said.
“Haven’t I enough t’ answer fer?” groaned the wretch.
“All right, then, you can have the rifle.”
Then the trap-door fell, and Watson, resuming his seat by the table, looked at Smythe.
“What are we going to do?” he asked.
Smythe shivered and glanced about him.
“You haven’t anything to hold you here, have you?” asked Watson. “This place is mortgaged for all it’s worth—and you owe for everything in the store, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well?”