But Garth had seen it, too, within the cave behind Chiswell. Along the sides, only dimly discernible in outline, were masses of something that was not rock. Seemingly sacks of something.
That was enough for Prokle; and Garth, too, was sure his own eyes were blazing as he tried not to let Prokle's fanaticism get him.
"Can you beat that for luck?" Prokle was whispering. "He's started getting the gold out already! Or it's platinum maybe! Anyway it's going to save us a lot of time and work. Lord knows how he ever expected to get it away from here, but—well, I guess I'd have started mining, too, if I was in his shoes. Come on, Hype, let's get over there!"
Prokle had quite lost sight of the issue. Garth kept his own voice calm as he said:
"Not yet; it'll wait. Well, which is it going to be?"
Prokle was still staring over at the cave. Now he looked back at Garth. "Which—what did you say?"
"I said: what happened to our little stalemate? You know, the one we were at a moment ago?"
The light in Prokle's eyes died. "But—but Hype—you can't be serious—to pass up this?"
"I've got to pass it up, pal. You know that all the wealth on this rock couldn't buy my freedom! There's my passport to freedom, crouching over there in front of that cave. And he's got to stay alive."
Prokle was becoming angry. "You're—you're just exaggerating!"