commit such a deed. What should he do? Then he was suddenly aware that he was looking straight into the threatening muzzle of a levelled revolver.
“Ah, I guess that’ll bring ye to yer senses,” Bill growled. “That carries more weight than all yer pious prayers. That’s what will touch the heart quicker than anything I know.”
“Would you commit murder for the sake of a paltry ring?” the missionary asked, unabashed by the danger which threatened him.
“It’s up to you to stop it, then,” was the reply. “If ye don’t want me to commit murder, jist give up that ring.”
“But I have received it in trust. It is not mine to give.”
“That doesn’t make any difference to me. You kin explain what happened, and Hugo will understand.”
“I won’t do such a thing,” the missionary sternly declared. “My life is of little value as far as this world is concerned. But my honor means a great deal. You will only get that ring over my dead body.”
Under the strain and excitement of the situation the old man suddenly lifted his hand to give emphasis to his words. Thinking that he meant to knock aside the weapon, Bill’s hand quickly moved, and his finger pulled the trigger. There was a sharp report, a groan, and a heavy thud as the missionary dropped limp and helpless upon the floor, his head striking the table as he fell.
“Serves the old fool right,” Bill muttered, as he stepped around the table and bent over the prostrate man. “That was the only way to stop his d— nonsense. Now fer the ring. I saw him put it in his pocket, an’ most likely it’s there yit.”
