"Do you want me to shoot him?" whispered the other huskily.
"If you have to, but I don't believe it will be necessary. The cub will
soon understand that his safety depends entirely on doing as he is
told."
"Say," muttered Tom thickly. He stirred, opened his eyes, then sat up,
looking dazed.
"Don't move or talk too much," advised the man with the shotgun. As he
spoke, he moved the muzzle close to Reade's face.
"Hello!" muttered Tom, blinking rather hard.
"Hello yourself. That's talking enough for you to do," snapped the
bully.
"Was that the thing you hit me over the head with at the finish?"
inquired the young engineer curiously.
"Careful! You're expected to think--not talk," leered his captor. "If
ye want something to think about ye can remember that I have fingers on
both triggers of this gun."
"I can see that much," Tom assented. "Why do you think that it's
necessary to keep that thing pointed at me? Have you got me in a place
where you feel that facilities for escaping are too great?"
The word "facilities" appeared too big for the mind of the bully to
grasp.
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