There was a laugh at this, but it was silenced by the dark man’s voice.
“Silence, gentlemen, please,” he said, “and no laughter where two men’s lives are at stake.”
A chill ran through Dallas again, but he forced a smile at his cousin, as if to say, what he did not think, “It will be all right now.”
“Look here,” cried the Cornishman, drawing himself up to his full height, and looking round as if to address every one present; “these youngsters said what was quite right. They’ve been along with me and two more ever since we dug ’em out of the snow.”
“That’s right, as far as I know,” said their acquaintance with the gold; “there was a party of five when I came upon them to-night;” and a fresh murmur arose.
“It’s all right, mates,” said Redbeard to his two companions; “there’s a gang of ’em, but don’t you be skeared; these gents’ll see justice done.”
“Well, I don’t mind being called one of a gang, my sons,” said the Cornishman. “I worked on the railway once, and I was ganger, or, as you call it here, boss, over a dozen men; but if this chap, who looks as red as if he’d come out of a tin-mine, says I robbed him, I’ll crack him like I would a walnut in a door.”
There was a roar of laughter here, and cries of “Well done, little un!” But the dark man sternly called for silence once more.
“Now, sir, what do you say to this?” he said to Redbeard sharply.
“What I said before, boss. That big chap wasn’t with ’em then. I say these two young larrikins tried to rob and do for us. Look at his leg!”