“Don’t be a silly ass, Stebbins. It won’t do you any good to kill me. Think what you’d feel like when they came to pinion you in the condemned cell.” He crawled cautiously to a further step. “Think of the hangman adjusting the straps, and the parson reading the burial service.”

“I can hear you moving,” said the voice above, and Labar fancied that there was irresolution in the tone. “Don’t you try no monkey business now.”

“You’ll have a white cap over your face,” went on Labar, “and they’ll take you out in a little procession⁠—”

“Shut up,” said the voice ferociously. “You can’t frighten me.”

“I don’t want to frighten you,” said Labar. “I don’t think you’re the kind of man to be frightened. You’ve got sense⁠—not like some of those other fellows. Suppose you give me that gun and let me look after you. You’ll trust me, won’t you?”