Hazelton could now
see every line of his adversary plainly, though he could not make out the
fellow's face.
"You'd better get up and talk," warned Harry, poising the rock fragment
for a throw. "If you don't you'll cast all the more suspicion upon
yourself. For the last time, my man, who are you and what are you doing
here?"
The huge black figure might have been a log for all the answer that came
forth.
"All right, then; it's your own fault," Harry Hazelton continued calmly.
"As you won't speak I'm going to crack the nut for myself. Your head will
be the nut, and this rock I have in my hand shall be the hammer. I'm going
to slam this rock on your head with all the force I've got, and I'm a good,
straight thrower."
Yet, though Hazelton spoke with such confidence, he was far from meaning
all he said. In the first place, he had no legal right, under the
circumstances, to go as close to murder as it might be for him to throw the
rock at the rascal's head. Moreover, Harry would hardly have exercised
such a legal right, had he possessed it, without the strongest provocation.
From the black prowler came a sudden, fierce snort. It sounded altogether
like defiance.
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