"It's no use your lying to me. Where's the money?"
"I have no money, I tell you."
"Carey," observed Israel, "hunt a candle."
While Carey looked for the candle, Israel surveyed his victims with a cheerful, anticipatory grin.
The candle came; was lighted.
"Carey," Israel spoke again, "you pin the old woman down. Pull the quilt off. Clamp her feet together. So!"
Then he thrust the candle-flame against the soles of those gnarled old feet—thrust it close, while the flame bent upward, and the melting tallow poured upon the bed.
The woman screamed again, this time in pain. The farmer half rose, with a quivering cry of rage, but Israel's gun stared him between the eyes. The woman screamed without interval. There was a smell of burning flesh.
"Now we'll change about," remarked Israel, beaming. "I'll hold the old feller. You take the candle, Carey. You don't reely need your gun—now, do ye, boy?"
And so they began afresh.