“Going to take this trinket from the child. I am going to give her a bath.”
“Oh, not to drown her?” said Tom in a terrified tone.
“Yes, unless she can make her tracks in the water.”
“Why, no child that age can swim,” said Tom, again putting his hand upon his companion’s arm.
“Then her chance isn’t worth what ours is,” replied Jim brutally.
“You would murder your own child? Oh, man, I implore you do not do this thing.”
Tom had a tight hold of Jim.
“Nevertheless, I am going to do it,” cried Jim, “and you listen here, the price of our freedom is that we should shut this kid’s wizen, and I promised, and now that I let you in on the game I don’t expect you to balk me.”
The two were staring at each other through the awful darkness.
“I swear you shall not kill it,” cried Tom, and with that the two struggled fiercely together. Every time Jim came near the baby he tried to kick it off in the water. But Tom would effectually keep him far enough away from it.