“I’ll go up and unpack, Rex,” said Tobe; “but, of course, I’m not going to lose my part of that five thousand. Pappy’s foolish. He’s gettin’ old. I’ll be back after a while and bring down the papers.”
Chatting of the trapped outlaw, the Ophir men climbed the zigzag to the mine. To Griffith, their voices dwindled to an indistinct murmur; a light glowed through the tent on the dump.
The stranger pressed into Jeff’s hand something small and hard—the little eohippus. “Here’s your little old token. Pappy caught on at once and he sent me along to represent. Let’s get this pack off and get out of here. Do we have to go down the same trail again?”
“Oh, no,” said Jeff. “There’s a wood-trail leads round the mountain to the east. Who’re you? I don’t know you.”
“Charley Gibson. Pappy knows me. He sent the little stone horse to vouch for me. I’m O. K. Time enough to explain when we’ve made a clean getaway.”
“You’re damn right there,” Jeff said. “That boy down yonder is nobody’s fool. I’ll light a candle in the tent and he’ll think I’m reading the newspapers. That’ll hold him a while.”
“I’ll be going on down the trail,” said Gibson. “This way, isn’t it?”
“Yes, that’s the one. All right. Go slow and don’t make any more noise than you can help.”
Jeff would have liked his own proper clothing and effects, but there was no time for resuscitation. Lighting the candle, he acquired “Alice in Wonderland” and thrust it into the bosom of his shirt. It had been years since last he read that admirable work; his way now led either to hiding or to jail—and, with Alice to share his fate, he felt equal to either fortune. He left the candle burning: the tent shone with a mellow glow.