The return of angry voices sent him dodging back among the trees. In the interval the quarrel had flamed higher, for at the gap in the snow Tony wheeled with a savage flourish.
“Bother?” he scoffed. “You’re the only bother I see!”
They swung nearer, and even by the smoky lantern, their faces shone red and threatening.
“And damned if I’ll have it, either!” added Florio.
“Oh, no, ’tain’t no bother,” sneered his follower. “Not a mite! Reg’lar summer weather, ain’t it, to be rowin’ round in? No bother to git froze, or break your laigs again’ rocks in the dark, or handle all that pesky stuff twice over! Usin’ this island was a fool idee, from the start. No bother! When ye could kerry it all to oncet, single lo’ds, slap over to the furder shore!”
“Slap over!” mocked the sailor. “You know, and none better, it’s not every night Graves can take it off our hands. Meantime, what? Stow it in our pockets? or use what sense God gives geese!”
“Keep it on our own side,” grunted Abram, “till Graves gits ready.”
“You’re a wonder!” The sailor dashed his empty sack on the ground passionately. “A fair wonder! I was in luck when I got you! Our own side! Where? Under the bed or up the chimney? Between that girl at your house and young Bissant at mine, how long would it stay hid? What’s that? Outdoors? Good Lord! did it ever cross your mind that snow leaves tracks? Look behind you, and see the path we’ve beaten! But no one comes out here; and that’s why, idiot!”
“Old man Bissant would ’a’ took it in,” retorted the mutineer. “Jest give him some money, let him into cahoots, and he’d ’a’ kep’ still.”
The two men faced each other closely, scowling above the light. Raging and voluble, Tony had spoken with more and more odd turns of voice and gesture, as though anger stirred his blood to a southern heat. Now he stepped forward quickly, and, half crouching, shook his raised fingers at arm’s length, with all the intensity of a Latin.