"Now will you sign?" Walter again demanded of the branded thief and fugitive from justice.
Ramon smiled a sickly smile. "Oh! it's the reward you're after, is it? Hope you may get it, that's all."
At this fresh insult two red spots flamed up on Walter's cheeks. Ramon's dark eyes sparkled at having so cleverly seen through the motives of his captors.
"Is that your last word?"
"Before I'll sign that paper I'll rot right here!"
"You had better sleep on it," replied Walter, turning away.
"What! before s'archin' him for the stealin's?" Bill asked, with well-feigned surprise, at the same time critically looking Ramon over from head to foot.
Ramon's hand went to his neckcloth, as if already he felt the hangman's noose choking him, the observant Bill meanwhile watching him as a cat does a mouse. "Come, my lad, turn out your pockets," he commanded, in a most business-like way.
Pale with anger, Ramon first pulled out a leather pocket-book, which he threw upon the table, with something that sounded very much like a muttered curse, after which he folded his arms defiantly across his chest. "Now you've got it, much good may it do you," he sneered.