“Ay gotta tal the Russian you ban dead, so that he don’t luke for you no more,” and Anderssen grinned.
“Why can’t you join me then after you have told him that?” insisted the girl.
Anderssen shook his head.
“Ay don’t tank Ay join anybody any more after Ay tal the Russian you ban dead,” he said.
“You don’t mean that you think he will kill you?” asked Jane, and yet in her heart she knew that that was exactly what the great scoundrel would do in revenge for his having been thwarted by the Swede. Anderssen did not reply, other than to warn her to silence and point toward the path along which they had just come.
“I don’t care,” whispered Jane Clayton. “I shall not let you die to save me if I can prevent it in any way. Give me your revolver. I can use that, and together we may be able to hold them off until we can find some means of escape.”
“It won’t work, lady,” replied Anderssen. “They would only get us both, and then Ay couldn’t do you no good at all. Think of the kid, lady, and what it would be for you both to fall into Rokoff’s hands again. For his sake you must do what Ay say. Here, take my rifle and ammunition; you may need them.”
He shoved the gun and bandoleer into the shelter beside Jane. Then he was gone.
She watched him as he returned along the path to meet the oncoming safari of the Russian. Soon a turn in the trail hid him from view.
Her first impulse was to follow. With the rifle she might be of assistance to him, and, further, she could not bear the terrible thought of being left alone at the mercy of the fearful jungle without a single friend to aid her.