"Maybe ye can," said Thirkle, "but all I want you to remember is that Thirkle said ye couldn't, and my words will come to ye when ye take those thirteen steps up to the rope. Just keep that in mind, Bucky."
Buckrow made no reply, but busied himself again with the sling, and as he got down on his knees with his back toward me, I decided that it was time that I took a hand in the proceedings. With Thirkle bound, I had nothing to fear from him, and I began to draw myself up from the ground, intending to get on one knee and then empty my pistol into Buckrow, who was not a dozen yards away.
If it had not been that there was a great deal of high, dry grass, that would crackle if I tried to run through it, I would have attempted to rush in on Buckrow and knock him senseless with the butt of a pistol. But as Thirkle sat facing in my direction, and there was little chance of getting to Buckrow before Thirkle would see me and give the alarm, or Buckrow hear me coming, I knew the only thing to do was to kill or wound Buckrow, even though I had to shoot him in the back. It seemed an unfair advantage, and nothing better than the act of an assassin; but I reasoned that Thirkle or Buckrow would have little mercy on me if I fell into their power.
So I arose cautiously, and, parting the grass before me, reached for my pistol.
CHAPTER XVII
THE ART OF THIRKLE
"So Jim's done for, ye say," said Buckrow. "Good job ye made of it coming back this way, and good job for me ye did, and the worse for Thirkle."
"Clean job all around, Bucky, and I'm back to have my cut of the pile," and then I was sure of dreaming, for that was the voice of Petrak, and it seemed to me that Petrak ought to be millions of miles away, although I could not quite settle in my mind just how it was, except that I knew it couldn't be Petrak speaking—I was dreaming it, and yet I couldn't be dreaming that awful pain in my head. I tried to open my eyes, but couldn't.
"Then the Kut Sang didn't go down at all," said Thirkle's voice. "Nice job you two will have getting clear of this place with the gold now. Our dear friend, Mr. Trenholm isn't alone, I'll bet a hat on that."
"Bet yer hat with the devil himself for all the good it will bring," growled Buckrow. "This ain't none of your affair, Mr. Thirkle, and I'll thank ye to pipe down and wait until we ask ye to talk."