At last Wilkins broke the silence. “Lady,” he said, “I s’pose your pa’s told you how I come to be on this here trip?”
Florence nodded. The Professor had not told her, but it seemed unnecessary to admit that fact.
Wilkins went on. “I’ll own right up to you,” he explained, “that when I come I warn’t by no means satisfied that I was gettin’ a square deal; a ten per cent rake-off ain’t very high when you hold the joker and nobody else can get nothin’ unless you helps. Then I wasn’t satisfied about Jim. That Miss Fitzhugh swears her friends didn’t kill him; but, then, she naturally would, you know, and I’ve got my doubts. Still, there didn’t seem nothin’ else for me to do but to come along, and give ’em all the rope they wanted, and watch my chance to find out about Jim and to get a bigger share of the gold. But I want to say now that that’s all to the past. Your friends is my friends, and I’ll stick by ’em. You understand?”
Florence did not understand—how should she? She had never heard of “Jim,” nor of his death; nor did she know that Wilkins held the key to the location of the treasure. She was rapidly finding out things, however; so she held her peace and let the plainsman talk on.
“I promised to show them Bill’s letter as soon as we got into the Baltic,” he continued. “That means to-night. I guess I’d have done it any way, but now I know you, I ain’t hesitatin’ no more.”
Florence found her tongue. “It’s Bill’s letter that tells where the wreck is, isn’t it?” she guessed.
“Sure! The place ain’t much more than a day from here. I’m going to show it to them pretty soon. But first I wanted to say somethin’ to you.”
Florence scarcely heard him. An idea, vague and unformulated, was stirring in her brain. Could any gain accrue to her personally from the fact that Wilkins alone knew the whereabouts of the gold?
While she considered, the man went on. “Lady,” he declared earnestly, “I’m a rough fellow, and I know I ain’t half good enough for you. I know your dad would have a fit if he thought I was makin’ love to you; and your fine friends would think I was crazy. Maybe I am; but it’s for you to say. I’m a sheepman, lady, and many a night when I’ve been bedded down alongside a camp-fire, watching them muttons masticatin’ and baain’ to each other, I’ve thought how nice it would be to go home to find somebody waiting for me. And the minute I see you and hear you talk so bright and clever, says I to myself: ‘That’s the girl for me.’” Wilkins paused for an instant and then went on. “I ain’t no poor man, lady. I’ve got twenty-five thousand baa-baas in Colorado. I didn’t come on this trip for the money, though half a million ain’t to be snuz at. So you’ll understand that when I gets my share home I’ll be mighty well off. Now can’t you and me frame it up together? Say the word, and I’ll make ’em consent before I gives up the letter telling where the gold is.”
Wilkins paused and waited for an answer. His face was as expressionless as ever, but in spite of himself a tremor crept into his voice. Plainly he was very much in earnest.