“Don’t—don’t strike me!” said Wilkins, putting up his hands to ward off the expected blow.
“You were under that window?”
“Yes, but——”
“And you were eavesdropping there!”
“No—no—I——”
A smashing blow in the face stopped the stammering words and threw Wilkins blind and bleeding against one of the cottonwoods. When he recovered enough to crawl to his feet, Barlow was sitting before him, staring at him in the half darkness.
“Wilkins,” he said, “that’s just to teach you that you can’t monkey with me! When you go wrong again I shall shoot you, which will be a great deal worse.”
Wilkins cowered before him.
There was blood on his lip, and when he put up his hand to his face the blood got on his hand.
“What did you mean to do with any information you secured in that way?” Barlow demanded.