He took another step forward cautiously, to avoid being heard, lest Churr should dash by and escape; but, once inside, the captain’s person blocked the way, and stepping boldly forward, Churr started up with a shrill cry, like some beast when tracked to its lair.
“You dog!” cried Gil, as he dashed at him, receiving, as he did so, a heavy blow from the iron bar with which the adder-hunter had been wrenching open the case.
He staggered back, and Churr was springing over him, but he was too late, for, recovering himself, Gil seized him tightly, and a fierce struggle began.
Churr had sprung forward so sharply that Gil Carr was driven to the narrow platform beyond the stone, and the struggle took place outside the cave. But it was not of long duration, for Churr was no match for the well-built, muscular young man, who, after wrestling with him here and there, ended by wrenching from him the iron bar, and they fell heavily on the narrow shelf of rock, from which, if either slipped, he would go down some forty feet perpendicular, and then crash through the bushes into the dark bed of the rivulet far below.
“What—what are you going to do?” panted Churr at last, as he was held half over the side.
“To kill you, as I would any other thieving rat or vermin who came to steal. But tell me first who knows of this place beside you?”
“No one, not a soul,” howled Churr. Then, feeling that he had made a mistake, he added hastily, “Only a few trusty friends.”
“The first words were the truth,” said Gil, sharply, as his hand sought his belt; “the last were added to make me afraid to kill you, lest others should come and be aware of the deed. Abel Churr, you have learned a secret, and you must have known the risk.”
“But I’ll never tell, and I’ll never come again. I’ll never help it to a soul, or say a word about the trade.”
“Never,” said Gil in a low stern voice.