“And I’ll show you where,” cried Gunson, “if you don’t come along.”
“But I can’t go like this,” cried Esau.
“Can’t you,” said Gunson, fiercely. “Here, hi! Frau!”
The landlady came running in, and began to exclaim on seeing Esau’s state; but she was silenced directly by Gunson, who thrust a couple of dollars into her hands, and between us we hurried Esau out into the road.
“But I can’t—my—”
“Come along!” cried Gunson, fiercely.
“And they’ll be after me directly,” panted Esau. “Said I shouldn’t go till I’d paid a hundred dollars.”
“They had better come for them,” muttered Gunson between his teeth; and after that Esau suffered himself to be hurried along, consoling himself with a few bites at the piece of bread he held, as we ran on to where in the soft moonlight we could see several good-sized fishing-boats lying, with men idling near them on the shore.
“Now then,” cried Gunson, quickly; “we want to be put aboard the schooner that sailed this evening. Three dollars. There she is, two miles out.”
No one answered.