"Go on back ter the front door, Bill," he ordered roughly. "This fellow'll never run away; his legs wouldn't carry him. Now, Mr. Preacher," glowering savagely at the poor devil across the bottle-strewn table, "do yer know who I am?" Jenks endeavored to answer, from the convulsive movement of his throat, but made no sound. Fagin cursed again. "If it wasn't such a waste of good liquor I'd pour some of this down your gullet," he exclaimed, shaking a half-filled bottle in his fist. "Then maybe you could answer when I spoke to you. Now, see here, you canting old hypocrite, I'm Red Fagin, an' I guess you know what that means. I'm pisen, an' I don't like your style. Now you're goin' to do just what I tell you, or the boys will have a hangin' bee down in the ravine. Speak up, an' tell me what you propose to do." Jenks wet his dry lips with his tongue, clinging to the sides of the door with both hands. "I--I am the Lord's servant," he managed to articulate, "and have taken no part in this unholy war." "You're a cheerful liar, but don't try snivelling on me. You are too big a coward to go out yourself, but you're hand in glove with Farrell. Oh, I know you, sneaking saint; I've had my eyes on you a long while. Now it's do as I say, or hang; that's all, Jenks, an' I'm cussed if I care very much which you choose." "What--what is it you wish of me?" his uncertain gaze wandering over the three faces, but coming back to Fagin. "You are to marry this officer here to a young lady." "What--what young lady?" "Mortimer's daughter--Claire is the name, isn't it, Grant? Yes, Claire; you know her, I reckon." I could hear the unfortunate man breathe in the silence, but Fagin's eyes threatened. "Is--is she here?" he faltered helplessly. "Does she desire the--the ceremony?" "That doesn't happen to be any of your business," broke in Fagin bluntly. "This is my affair, an' the fewer questions you ask the better. If we want some fun, what the hell have you got to do with it, you snivelling spoil-sport! I haven't asked either of them about it. I just decided it was time they got married. Stand up, man, and let go that door," he drew a derringer from his belt and flung it onto the table. "There's my authority--that, an' fifty hell-hounds outside wondering why I don't loot the house, an' be done. Do you want to be turned over to them? If you don't, then speak up. Will you tie them, or not?" Jenk's eyes wandered toward Jones, who stared blankly back at him, yellow fangs showing beneath his beard. "Why--of course--yes," he faltered weakly. "I--suppose I must." "Don't seem much chance to get out, does there, parson? Well, I reckon it won't hurt your conscience particularly. Bill! Where's Bill?" "You sent him to guard the front door," explained Jones.