“I dunno what you’re talkin’ about!” Smallpox Dave whined.
“Oh, yes, you do; and you’ll out with it, or I’ll use this knife on you! I’m looking for that other man, and if you talk quick and talk straight it will be all the better for you. I want to know who that man was, and what has become of him?”
“Boss, I’d tell you if I knowed; I don’t know!”
Bound though Smallpox Dave was, the scout gripped him again by the throat.
“You scoundrel, speak out the truth, and speak it quick!” he cried.
Smallpox Dave gasped and gurgled. “Don’t—don’t!” he begged. “I’ll tell what I know.”
The fingers of the scout relaxed.
“Speak quick,” he commanded. “Who was that man?”
Smallpox Dave shivered—he did not want to tell, but again the scout set his fingers to the throat of the miscreant.
“Yes, I’ll tell,” the strangling and frightened wretch now wheezed.