“Better take my advice, lad,” he said, turning to Brick. “I’m peaceably inclined, and I don’t want to see you hurt. You’ve got to come to terms some time, and why not now? It’s not likely that we would let you slip through our fingers after going to all this trouble. We’re playing for high stakes, and we intend to win. It’s not much we ask of you. And as for your father—why, ten thousand dollars is only a drop in the bucket to him. He will gladly pay double that amount to save your life.”
“To save my life?” questioned Brick; and the pallor on his face deepened a little.
“That’s just it,” resumed Raikes in a coldly stern voice. “If you refuse to write the letters, you will never leave this cabin alive.”
“A bullet through your head, and a grave in the swamp,” added Bogle. “That’s what you may expect.”
“You would murder me?” cried Brick.
“Yes; if our plans failed,” was Raikes’ calm reply. “It would be necessary for our own safety. But you don’t intend to drive us to that, I know. Come; be sensible. There are the writing materials on the table. Put the matter through without delay, and you will get your freedom in two or three weeks.”
Brick’s face was deathly pale, but there was a resolute gleam in his eyes.
“You won’t dare to kill me,” he replied. “You would surely hang for it. My friends will hunt every place for me, and they will get the loggers to help them. If you let me go, I’ll promise not to say anything about the affair. And you may keep all that money.”
Raikes laughed contemptuously.
“You are a bigger fool than I took you for,” he said. “This cabin is as safe from detection as though it was in the center of Africa. We’re not worried about your friends. Once more, are you going to write those letters?”