“It’s all right, Tom,” he cried breathlessly. “It’s all right. Everything’s fixed, and we’ll be off as soon as it gets dark. I had a d——d hard time of it with them d——d nihilists on one side and the cops on the other. But I pulled it off at last. Where’s the liquor! Let’s splice the main brace on the strength of it.”
Without answering, Tom set out a bottle and watched the other drink. But he himself took nothing.
Such disrespect to the convenances roused Bill’s indignation. “What in h——l’s the matter with you?” he demanded. “Anybody’d think I’d brought bad news ’stead of tellin’ you I’d pulled the thing off.”
Still Tom did not answer, and the other stared at him with growing suspicion. “Where’s the dinghy?” he demanded suddenly. “And where’s that girl?”
Tom raised his heavy eyes. “Gone,” he responded briefly. “She took the boat and vamosed some time last night.”
“Gone! Gone!” Bill’s voice rose to a scream. “Gone where? After the cops? I always knowed it. I always told you she’d do us. The little hell cat. D—— her——”
A pair of sinewy hands closed round his throat, choking the words, and he felt himself shaken to and fro like a rat.
“That’ll do, Bill Wilkins,” grated a voice that he hardly recognized as his brother’s. “That’ll do. Don’t you orthogrify a word agin her. She’s playin’ for her own hand, same’s we are. You keep your tongue off her.” With the last word the plainsman hurled the other across the cabin.
Bill picked himself up slowly. He fingered his throat, swallowed once or twice, and then came back to where Tom stood glowering.
“All right,” he mumbled. “I won’t say nothing against her. She’s an angel of light if you say so. But I reckon she’s sold us out, and I guess the peelers are coming for us right now. We’d better get a move on—unless you’d sooner stay here and get pulled so’s not to spoil her game.”