"No, I won't," retorted that youth, defiantly.
"Yes, ye will!" suddenly shot from between the lips of Josh Owen. He accompanied the words with a spring, bearing his nephew down to the ground, and holding him there.
"I'm stronger than you, Danny, an' ye know it," growled the ex-foreman, hoarsely. "Now, will ye hand up that money, or will ye make me take it from ye?"
With a reluctant grace, while still pinned down to the ground, Dan
Jaggers surrendered his half of the stolen money.
"Now, ye can git up, and go do what's laid out to be done," announced Josh Owen, peeling a five-dollar bill from the roll and handing it to his nephew. "First, get the horse headed right, then go on into town and get the liquor. But don't ye stop to drink in Dunhaven, Danny. If ye do, ye'll be sure to git inter a fight, and ye might do some talkin' too. Hustle in, and hustle back, and ye'll find ye can trust me to hold outer to-night's pickings safe for ye. Don't ye worry a mite on the way to town or back, Danny boy."
If a scowl could have killed, Dan would have triumphed, even now, at the expense of his uncle's life. But Josh paid no heed to black looks. He thought he knew this nephew of his.
"Hurry along, Danny," he coaxed. "My throat is gittin' mighty dry for a bit o' liquor."
"Give me another five-spot," begged Jaggers.
"Not another dollar till ye come back, Danny," rejoined his uncle, firmly. "The quicker ye start, an' return, the quicker ye'll have yer share of the night's business. Now, git!"
Using ugly language under his breath, Dan Jaggers turned and shuffled off through the woods, well knowing that he would suffer from his uncle's heavy hands if he did not.