Still Jake refused.
Then my blood ran cold, and boiled again. The veins stood out on my forehead with rage.
The foul-mouthed creature hit my old helper full across the mouth and a trickle of blood immediately began to flow down over Jake's chin.
I struggled silently with my ropes, but they were taut and merely cut into my flesh. But I made the discovery then, that my captors had failed to take into account that the bed to which they had tied me had been put up by Jake and, at that, not any too securely.
I felt that if I threw all my weight away from the stanchion to which I was bound, I might be able to pull the whole thing out bodily. But I knew that this was not the moment for such an attempt.
They were five men to one; they had sticks and clubs, maybe revolvers, so what chance would I have?
I decided to bear with the goading of Jake as long as it were possible.
"Guess you'll drink it now,—you old, white-livered miser," cried the dark man.
He dashed some of the liquor in Jake's face. Jake opened his mouth and gasped. The big bully then threw the remainder of the spirits, with a splash, sheer into Jake's mouth.
"He boozed that time, boys. You bet your socks!" he laughed uproariously. The others joined in the hilarity.