“You should be moderate with wine after having been ill,” the other man reminded him.
“Yah. Maybe I should. Not because I’ve been ill, but because I might talk too much—”
“You’re not exactly tight-mouthed at the moment.”
“Think you’re funny, don’t you? Well, you trot back to your High Chief, or whatever he is, and tell him if he’s interested I’ll go fifty-fifty with him. He can divide his share anyway he likes, but fifty per cent is mine and no questions asked.”
“Probably you have found an ancient Ynca treasure hole. They are being found every day, and when investigated—nothing more valuable than a crumbling mummy is revealed,” the other told him.
“You ain’t no good at guessin’. If I hadn’t cracked the plane I’d go back and get the whole works myself, but you tell your chief that’s my proposition,” Ollie answered insolently. “A lot of guys will jump at the chance the minute I spring it, but you fellows get first crack.”
“Very generous of you.”
“Sure, I’m generous.”
“Should I have the great audacity to return to my ‘chief’ as you call him, he would think me crazy, my friend. You’ll have to give me something more than vague phrases to repeat to him. In the first place, your story is not convincing, regardless of what you found. You were injured, it was days before you reached the trapper’s cabin, you could not return to the spot,” the other objected.
“I ain’t such a nut as I look. I can go right back to that spot, and don’t you forget it,” Ollie boasted.