“Who sent you here with that filthy stuff?” he asked sternly. “You'd best answer me.”
The Kru boy, shrinking away from the dark muzzle of that motionless revolver, was spellbound with fear. He shook his head.
“No understand.”
There was a flash of light, a puff of smoke, a loud report. The Kru boy fell forward upon his face howling with fear. Monty ran off towards the house mumbling to himself.
“The next time,” Trent said coolly, “I shall fire at you instead of at the tree. Remember I have lived out here and I know all about you and your kind. You can understand me very well if you choose, and you've just got to. Who sends you here with that vile stuff?”
“Massa, I tell! Massa Oom Sam, he send me!”
“And what is the stuff?”
“Hamburgh gin, massa! very good liquor! Please, massa, point him pistol the other way.”
Trent took up the flask, smelt its contents and threw it away with a little exclamation of disgust.
“How often have you been coming here on this errand?” he asked sternly.