As Levin entered the little hallway Van Dorn smiled:
"Here is a glass of real wine to inspire you, junco."
"No, Captain. I would rather die than drink it."
"Do you repent coming with me?"
"Oh, bitterly, Captain. I don't want to steal poor, helpless people if they is black."
"Now, listen, lad!"—Van Dorn's face ceased to blush and the coarse look came into his blue eyes—"this night's excursion is for your profit. I like your gentle inclination for me, and the good acts you have solicited from me, and the confidence you have shown me as to your love for pretty Hulda. Join me in this work willingly, and I will give her, for your marriage settlement, all my share."
"Never," Levin exclaimed.
Van Dorn drew his knife and rose to his feet.
"Levin," he lisped, "I promised Patty Cannon that I would bring you back spotted with crime or dead. Now choose which it shall be."
"To die, then," cried Levin, with one hand drawing the long, silken hair from his eyes and with the other drawing his own knife; "but I will fight for my life."