The more he knew about the fellow the more thoroughly convinced he was that Fernand was bad in all possible ways.

He might be telling the truth now, however--again he might be simply tempting him on to a danger.

There was only one way to decide.

Ronicky, a gambler himself, mentally flipped a coin and nodded to Jerry.
"We'll go in," he said, "but man, man, how my old scars are pricking!" They walked into the moldy, damp air of the tunnel, reached the corner, and there the passage turned and ended in a blank wall of raw dirt, with a little apron of fallen debris at the bottom of it.

Ronicky Doone walked first, and, when he saw the passage obstructed in this manner, he whirled like a flash and fired at the mouth of the tunnel.
A snarl and a curse told him that he had at least come close to his target, but he was too late.