"Now, Lutts," resumed the revenuer with his bullying insolence, "you've got one chance, and if you could see what's ahead of you, you'd take it quick! You lead us to that layout of yours and you're free. Otherwise, you're going to jail for a year anyway. I got the evidence all right. What you going to do about it?"
Lem's brain was busy.
If he had been sure that there were only the two of them he would have been only too eager to comply with Burton's proposition—because he knew that these two men would never again report for duty. But how was he to know how many men Burton had hiding to trail them.
Upon second thought Lem declined to put his own people in jeopardy.
"Well," growled Burton, "don't be afraid to talk. Are you going to lead me to that liquor hole?"
"Yo' kin blow my brains out first," replied Lem scornfully and emphatically.
"Well, fool, you're on your way. Tom, let's get busy. Bring his gun."
The revenuer produced a length of strap and, tying one end to the short chain connecting the iron cuffs, he motioned Tom ahead.
The iron cut into Lem's flesh at the slightest pressure, and acted like a bull-ring. In their desire to get the prisoner away with as much secrecy as possible they avoided the trails, traveling cautiously under cover.
A few minutes after the revenuer and their captive had departed, Orlick crept out from the rocks like a reptile, and warily dodged along in their wake.