But, suppose I've no place to lock 'em up in, how then?" Quilt looked a little perplexed. He looked from the sword to the dagger with which he had brought her down here, and grimaced. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam. As it is, we've only a couple of ducks—and they were intended for you.
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