“Easy with the light there,” growled the man with the crooked nose, as he replaced the coat his companion had dislodged. “Do you want to bring the farmer and his dogs down on us?”
“Nobody’ll be out such a night,” was the answer. “You’re too much afraid. Freitlach!”
“Shut up!” exclaimed the other. “Didn’t I tell you not to use that name? Don’t use any names.”
“Aw, don’t be so afraid!” taunted the third man—the one who had his back toward Jerry. “You’re nervous.”
“And so would you be if you’d done what I have. If they catch me—” and the man with the crooked nose looked apprehensively over his shoulder into the dark shadows of the barn.
“That’s it; he’s too much afraid,” said the man with his back toward Jerry. “He’s always afraid!”
“He’s afraid of too much,” sneered the man who had displaced the coat. “He’s afraid to give us our share of the swag, and I want mine, too. I’m tired of waiting. I want to have a settlement and get out. That’s what I told you when we met to-night, and that’s what I’m going to have. I’ve starved and begged long enough. Now I want my share!” and he banged his fist on the loose boards of the barn floor, close to the lantern, setting it to swaying so that the man with the crooked nose exclaimed:
“Stop, you idiot! Do you want to set the place on fire?”
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first place we’ve burned,” declared the other, but the words died on his lips as the other struck him across the mouth.
“What does that mean?” demanded the man who had roused the ire of the one with the crooked nose.