“Close that window and stand here at the door.”
With the boy at the door, Hale rolled the hand-barrel to the threshold and the white liquor gurgled joyously on the steps.
“All right, come along,” he said to the captives, and at last young Dave spoke:
“Whut you takin' me fer?”
Hale pointed to the empty hand-barrel and Dave's answer was a look of scorn.
“I nuvver brought that hyeh.”
“You were drinking illegal liquor in a blind tiger, and if you didn't bring it you can prove that later. Anyhow, we'll want you as a witness,” and Hale looked at the other mountaineer, who had turned his eyes quickly to Dave. Caliban led the way with young Dave, and Hale walked side by side with them while Bob was escort for the other two. The road ran along a high bank, and as Bob was adjusting the jangling weapons on his left arm, the strange mountaineer darted behind him and leaped headlong into the tops of thick rhododendron. Before Hale knew what had happened the lad's pistol flashed.
“Stop, boy!” he cried, horrified. “Don't shoot!” and he had to catch the lad to keep him from leaping after the runaway. The shot had missed; they heard the runaway splash into the river and go stumbling across it and then there was silence. Young Dave laughed:
“Uncle Judd'll be over hyeh to-morrow to see about this.” Hale said nothing and they went on. At the door of the calaboose Dave balked and had to be pushed in by main force. They left him weeping and cursing with rage.
“Go to bed, Bob,” said Hale.