"He is going to jail, if there is such an institution in these parts," replied Augustus.
"I'll give you fifty cents if you'll let him go," pleaded Mr. Fairfield.
"If you would give me fifty thousand dollars, I wouldn't let him go," replied the steward. "Do you think I would sell my own soul for money?"
Augustus, with the revolver in his right hand, felt in all the pockets of his prostrate enemy for dangerous weapons, but he found none.
"Now get up," said he.
Dock obeyed, in momentary fear that one of the pistol balls would be spinning through his head.
"Do you know where Mr. Watson's house is?" continued he.
"I do," replied Dock.
"Then march; and if you turn to the right or the left, or attempt any irregular proceeding, I promise you, on the honor of Mr. C. Augustus Ebénier, that I will give you the benefit of every bullet this pistol contains, six in number, by actual count. Forward!"
Dock marched in the direction indicated; he could not help doing so, bitter as the necessity was. Mr. Fairfield followed, begging and pleading with all his eloquence, and even offering as high as a dollar for the release of his friend.