The despairing moan with which this gloomy alternative was received was drowned by a loud cry from the other white man.
“Colonel Vipan. Git us out of this fix, for the Lord’s sake! I kin put you on to a good thing, I kin!”
The adventurer turned in amazement. He saw what was a villainous countenance at the best of times, and now with the shaggy beard matted with saliva and gouts of blood, it was hideous and horrible in the extreme. He recognised the man he had felled in the liquor saloon at Henniker City—Bitter Rube.
“How in thunder did you get into this hobble?” he said.
“It’s this way, Colonel. The red devils jumped us at our placer. They scalped the other three.”
“Burntwood Creek?”
“That’s it, Colonel. You get me out of this, and I’ll make you a rich man for life. There’s gold there worth millions and millions.”
“Glad to hear it, Bitter Rube,” was the unconcerned reply. “I know the place all right; going to work it by and by. It’s where your mate jumped me and got laid out for his pains. Remember your scheme to lynch me, eh, Bitter Rube?”
“Oh, Lord, Colonel. It was the other chaps. See here now—”
“Well, I can’t even repay the little service you were going to render me—a short shrift and a long rope,” interrupted Vipan, the scowling glances and increasing murmurs of the throng convincing him of the peril he himself was incurring. A frantic yell burst from the prisoner.