He knew that if he
rose his knees would buckle under him; that if he drew out his
revolver it would slip from his palsied fingers. For the fear of death
is a mighty fear, but it is nothing compared with the fear of man.
"I've asked you a question," said McGurk. "What's your answer?"
There was a quiver in the black forest of Boone's beard, and if Pierre
was cold before, he was sick at heart to see the big man cringe
before McGurk.
He stammered: "Give me time."
"Good," said McGurk. "I'm afraid I know what your answer would be now,
but if you take a couple of days you will think things over and come
to a reasonable conclusion. I will be at Gaffney's place about fifteen
miles from here. You know it? Send your answer there. In the
meantime"--he stepped forward to the table and poured a small drink
of whisky into a glass and raised it high--"here's to the long health
and happiness of us all. Drink!"
There was a hasty pouring of liquor.
"And you also!"
Pierre jumped as if he had been struck, and obeyed the order hastily.
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