"Am I a fool?" sneered Meagreson. "Don't I know that you dare no more show your face to one of them than to kiss a rattlesnake? The only answer you'd get would be a hempen cord and swinging bough!"
"Now that's nonsense, old man," put in Sprowl. "You're the fool. They've got you in a corner, and you may as well come down. Green and the rest of the boys have owned up, and unless you make terms as we did, it'll be all night with you."
"Who's that?" faltered the prisoner, a gray shade settling upon his florid features.
"Sprowl," replied that worthy. "I've told all I know and am going to swear to it, if you are obstinate; and, as you very well know, it's enough to hang you a dozen times over."
"The others—"
"I tell you they've 'peached, and you're a spotted man, if these gentlemen are only a mind to press the matter," glibly said Sprowl.
A deep groan was his only answer, as Meagreson fell forward, his form trembling like a leaf.
"Let him be, Poynter," said Crees, "and when he thinks it all over, he'll see that it's of no use holding out further. Here comes Fyffe."
"Hellow, what you fellers bin a-doin' to my hoss?" cried that worthy, as he leisurely strolled up the hill, wiping his greasy mouth upon his shirt-sleeve, and smacking his lips. "Make a bully quarter-hoss, he would, ef he was a leetle better trained. Stumbles an' kicks over the traces now, kinder; but he'll do."
"Never mind now, Jack," interrupted Poynter. "He's thinking."