"Ye'll play fair with me, won't ye, Thirkle?" asked Petrak.
"Fair as ye deserve. Move along with that cargo."
Petrak began to whine to himself, and I said nothing more until we went in with the last sack.
"You fool, he'll kill you as I told you he would, but you are too late now."
"Oh, Thirkle's all right," he grumbled; but he seemed worried since he had given up the pistols, and he saw plainly enough that Thirkle's manner had changed in no undecided way since Petrak had surrendered his weapons.
"All clear," said Thirkle, as we came out. He was measuring rope, and had his jacket on and a bundle rolled up, and all the camp litter was removed and dead leaves scattered over our tracks.
"Can I have my guns now, Thirkle? I don't like to go down the trail without a gun—no knowin' what might happen."
"Never would do yet, Reddy. Take this knife and cut the lines away from Mr. Trenholm's feet, and we'll fix him so he can navigate back to the boats. You take the lead back, Reddy, because you know the way better than I do, and I'll make Mr. Trenholm fast to ye, and follow on. We'll need to look sharp to make the beach before dark."
"But I want my guns, Thirkle. Fair play's fair play, and I want my guns."
"Never mind the guns, I say. Mr. Trenholm will be right at your back all the way down, and we can't take any chances now, Reddy. I'll settle him when the boats are off, and then you won't have anything to worry about. Cut his feet loose."