“We could get under cover in a minute,” said Tim.
“You mean we might be able to,” Ford’s finger touched the splintered seat at the rear of the boat. “Next time they might not miss.” Crazy John shut off the motor and the boat drifted toward a sand pit. It grated gently on the bottom and came to rest.
“I’m getting out here,” said the old sailor.
“You’re sure you’ve got everything you need?” The question was directed to Ford and Tim caught the intentness with which Crazy John spoke.
“Everything,” said Ford. “Sure you won’t change your mind?”
Crazy John’s face took on a stony look and his eyes wandered over the valley.
“I won’t change,” he said. “This is my home. I’m satisfied. That gold is cursed. You’ll be lucky to get back alive.”
“I’ll get back all right,” promised Ford, “and you’ll get your share.”
“You’ll need good men. Better take this lad. He’s the kind you can trust.” Crazy John extended his hand to Ford, then swung his bag over his shoulder and stalked off along the sand bar. Soon he was lost in the undergrowth.
When Ford turned around, Tim caught a gleam of moisture in his eyes and his hands trembled a little.