Garth merely shook his head, smiling wryly.
"All right, Hype, I've got an idea. We'll finish off Chiswell—we've got to do that. Then we'll mine the gold. We'll get every ounce that's here, and that ought to be plenty! Then I could get back to Earth myself—and with all that wealth I could help you! I'd make the proper contacts, bribe the right people—you know how it's done. And I'd really try, Hype. And you know you can trust me!"
"Yes, I know I can. And I know you'd try, Prokle. But you simply haven't any idea what you'd be up against, trying to buy a pardon for me. Any other man, yes. But you see, Prokle, the Earth Corporations would never let it go through. They know I'd soon be back pirating the Space Lanes again, and I would, too! I hear that pirating has been pretty tame since I've been away, if you know what I mean." Garth smiled reminiscently.
Across to them came Chiswell's whimpering, his half-sobs of fright as he heard them whispering. He was like a trapped wild animal, not quite daring to flee for fear they would pounce upon him.
Prokle's sullenness was slowly mounting to anger again. There was sweat upon his brow. His face twisted with indecision. Neither man had moved from where they lay, prone beside the dying fire.
Garth looked at his partner and said: "I'm going to leave it squarely to you, Prokle. The decision's all yours."
"Damn you, Hype!"
Hype simply watched. He wasn't smiling any more, for already he knew what the decision would be. He saw the fanatic light return to his partner's eyes. He saw his jaw set determinedly. Prokle wiped the sweat from his brow, and his body tensed. The lure of the gold....
Prokle twisted around to face Garth squarely then, but he couldn't look at him squarely as he said in a voice that was hardly audible:
"I—I can't give it up, Hype! It's too much to ask!"