“About the gold?” he repeated.
“Yes. Finding me, the rightful owner of half of the gold, here, alive and hoping to win back with my share to my daughter Hattie—does it make any change in your plans?”
Reivers chuckled softly.
“Not in the slightest,” he replied. “I came to get the stuff that’s come out of this mine. Take a look at me. Do I look like a soft fool who’d let anything interfere with my plans?”
MacGregor looked and shook his head, puzzled.
“I dinna understand ye, mon,” he said. “I canna make you out. By the look of you I’d be wishful to strike hands with you as one good man to another; but your talk, man, is all wrong, all wrong. Half of the stuff that’s been taken out of this mine—Shanty Moir’s half—I have made up my mind shall be yours for the strong blow you dealt to save my Hattie from black shame. Will you na’ strike hands on a partnership like that between us?”
Reivers yawned.
“Why should I? You’re ‘all in.’ You can’t help me any. I’ll have to do the job of getting the gold away from Moir. I came here to get it all. I don’t want any help, and I certainly won’t make any unnecessary split.”
“Man,” whispered MacGregor in horror, “is there naught but a piece of ice where your heart should be? Do you not understand it’s for a poor, unprovided girl I’m talking? A man you might rob; but have you the coldness in your heart to rob my little, unfortunate Hattie?”
“‘Little, unfortunate Hattie!’” mocked Reivers. “Consider her robbed already. What then?”