"Lay down that gun, boy!" repeated Ben Haley. "I know you. You're the
boy that rowed me across the river. You can row pretty well, but you're
not quite a match for me even at that."

"This gun makes me even with you," said Robert, returning his look
unflinchingly.

"Does it? Then all I can say is, that when you lose it you'll be in a
bad pickle. Lay it down instantly."

"Then lay down the gold you have in your pockets," said our hero, still
pointing his gun at Haley.

"Good boy! Brave boy!" said the old man, approvingly.

"Look here, boy," said Haley, in quick, stern tones, "I've had enough of
this nonsense. If you don't put down that gun in double quick time,
you'll repent it. One word--yes or no!"

"No," said Robert, resolutely.

No sooner had he uttered the monosyllable than Haley sprang toward him
with the design of wresting the gun from him. But Robert had his finger
upon the trigger, and fired. The bullet entered the shoulder of the
ruffian, but in the excitement of the moment he only knew that he was
hit, but this incensed him. In spite of the wound he seized the musket
and forcibly wrested it from our hero. He raised it in both hands and
would probably in his blind fury have killed him on the spot, but for
the sudden opening of the outer door, and entrance of a neighboring