"What can I do?"
"Get some one else."
"And have him betray me?"
"I thought that we had already come to an agreement," said Simpson, with some warmth. "Let me repeat here what I said before. I don't intend to risk my life in selling your whisky without being well paid for it."
"Yes, and you want a price that is little less than robbery."
"Then call it robbery; call it what you will. But remember the price remains."
"One-fifth, my! my! It comes high. But I'll stick to my word, Simpson. You are to get your one-fifth. Come," continued he, "let us get to work at the still; for, as you said, the mash may sour, but Jerry's money will keep."
"What is that?" asked Simpson, as he stumbled over something leaning against the side of the "hold out." "Well! well! If it isn't Jerry's old rifle. Leaning there just as natural as if the old trapper was at home."
"Strange he didn't take it with him," replied the Tinker, as he held up his firebrand to examine the old flint lock.
The sheriff was startled, for it was Mr. Howard's rifle, and his name was engraved in large letters on the muzzle. But the Tinker did not examine it carefully, and the two men soon left the "hold out" to begin work at the still.