'Come on,' says one, and I think he intended to make a fight for it.
He'd 'a been better off if he had. It couldn't have been worse for him; but the other one didn't see a chance, and so he says—
'Give in, what's the good? There's three to two.'
'All right,' says the other chap, the big one; and they put down their pistols.
It was curious now as these two were both men that father and Moran had a down on. They'd better have fought it out as long as they could stand up. There's no good got by givin' in that I ever seen. Men as does so always drop in for it worse in the end.
First thing, then, they tied 'em with their hands behind 'em, and let 'em stand up near their mates that were down—dead enough, both of them, one shot through the heart and one through the head.
Then Moran sits down and has a smoke, and looks over at 'em.
'You don't remember me, Mr. Hagan?' says he, in his drawling way.
'No,' says the poor chap, 'I don't think I do.'
'But I remember you devilish well,' says Moran; 'and so you'll find afore we leave this.' Then he took another smoke. 'Weren't you warder in Berrima Gaol,' says he, 'about seven year ago? Ah! now we're coming to it. You don't remember getting Daniel Moran—a prisoner serving a long sentence there—seven days' solitary on bread and water for what you called disobedience of orders and insolence?'