"You stick to your pen and typewriter, Mr. Trenholm, and let me run my own crew—nice pirate ye'd make, with silk underwear and a typewriter," and he and Petrak laughed loudly at the joke,
"I told him you would kill him, and so you will," I said, mustering as much defiance as I could under the circumstances.
"Kill Mr. Petrak here! Ha, ha, ha! Why, he's my partner, Mr. Petrak is, and we're going to share this gold together, share and share alike, as gentlemen do."
"He wanted to do for ye, Thirkle," said Petrak, flattered by his master and unable to see the sly sarcasm of Thirkle in his joy at being assured of his position, and of getting his share of the gold. "I never give him the chance, Thirkle. Now if it was some—say Buckrow or Long Jim, they might give him a gun, but not Petrak. Ye know I ain't the kind to turn on a pal, Thirkle, and I say you stick to me and I'll stick to you, come what do. Ain't that right, Thirkle?"
"Reddy, yer true blue," and he took Petrak's hand and shook it vigorously, and patted the little rat on the back. "Stick to Thirkle and Thirkle will stick to you like a Dutch uncle, and never mind what Mr. Trenholm has to say. He's not in this, or won't be long, and it won't be many days before we are counting out the gold between us.
"I've got enough five-pound notes here to buy the little yacht, and I'll take some of the gold, but not much. We'll be back here before the month is out, all slick and snug, and then away for London."
"I'll stick like paint, Thirkle; lay to that," said Petrak, grinning at me. "I knew he was on the wrong course when he come that gun talk to me, and I told him Thirkle was all right, and that I knowed ye better than him, and so I do—hey, Thirkle?"
"You had better give me your pistols until you are done, Reddy. Ye can't trust these gentlemen who write—they have too much imagination, and they are too foxy for men like you and me, Reddy. There's no telling what he might do in there if you have guns and knives on ye. Pass 'em over, Reddy, or he'll do for us yet."
Petrak gave up his weapons joyfully, not realizing that he was being disarmed for the very purpose I had warned him about—Thirkle was getting ready to finish his job in earnest.
"Now get along and dump the last of it in there, and move navy style or we'll be here at dark. No more soldiering, Petrak: and see that ye keep yer jaw battened down, Mr. Trenholm, or I'll take a hand in this that ye won't relish and attend to ye in a way ye won't fancy."