"He wouldn't look at you twice in London or anywhere else. He'll rid himself of you as soon as he needs you no more, which will be as soon as the gold is stowed and he has a boat in the water. Now is your chance if you ever had it."
"Thirkle is all right."
"He had it planned to kill Buckrow. Then he argued the two of you into letting him go. Can't you see that he is playing the game to have it all for himself? Are you going to be a fool all your life, man?"
"Then ye'd do for me after I done for him," he said.
"Give me a gun and cut me loose and I'll shoot him myself and I'll see that you get your share of the gold, which you won't from him. You can have it all if you'll let me kill him, and if he kills me you can say I cut my hands loose and grabbed a gun. You don't stand to lose anything—come on. Cut me loose and I'll take the chance you don't dare to."
"Thirkle's all right," he droned, picking up the sack again. "I know your game—ye want to do for the both of us and have it all for yourself. Fine job that would be! Nice I'd look givin' you a gun, wouldn't I! Lay on that sack."
"He's all very pleasant now," I went on as I stooped for the rope. "Wait until he has finished with us and the gold is packed, and then see what will happen—you'll wish you had listened to me."
"Pipe down with that," he growled, and I saw the uselessness of trying to make the lout see reason. I now began to fear that he would tell Thirkle what I had said to him.
When we went out for another sack, Petrak looked over at Thirkle and hesitated as if he wanted to say something, but Thirkle was writing in a little book, with a pistol between his feet.
"Well, what is it now?" he demanded truculently, having seen something suspicious in Petrak's manner. "What's the lay now? What have ye got yer hand so close to that gun for? Take a shot at me if you want—go on, take a shot at old Thirkle, if ye're that game."