He recognised his enemy now in spite of his cap and his disguised voice.

It was Joe Rogers.
'D'ye deny takin' it ?' asked the man sharply.
'Yes,' said Dick, cold at heart and quaking in every limb.
'Damn you for a young liar! Fer two pins I'd send you straight to smash.
I know you've got that gold stowed somewhere.

Where ?' The boy gave him no answer, and Rogers sprang to his feet, and tickled him again with the knife.
'You whelp!' he said hoarsely.

'I'd think ez much of slaughterin' you ez I would of brainin' a cat.

Speak, if you want to live! Where's that gold ?' Dick was convinced that the man would be as good as his word, but he still lingered, casting about helplessly for an excuse, a hope of escape.
'Blast you, won't you speak ?' Dick felt the knife cut into the rope above his head, and shrieked aloud in a paroxysm of terror.
'Stop, stop! I'll tell!' 'Tell then, an' be quick.