“If these men turn their bullion over on a square lay, are you prepared to do the same?”
“I’ll talk business after I have seen them turn it over.”
“That’s a rather queer attitude for you to take, Keedy, after your talk to the underwriters and to me.”
But the renegade did not show any inclination to come across with anything definite.
I knew well enough that he could not. His try with those divers had cost high and it was safe to presume that he had realized on every ounce of the bullion his men had recovered and had planted the money. My rancor was deep and I walked up to him and declared my belief.
“You understand, Keedy, that you must produce the bullion or its value in money or our bargain doesn’t stand,” said the lawyer.
I did not need that declaration to be assured that the villain had sold us without regard to our rights or our safety. And sudden fervor and determination thrilled through and through me. I proposed to show those men from San Francisco the difference between Marcena Keedy and the partners on whom he had pasted his dirty label. Mere talk was not as convincing proof as I desired. I had already made an investment of my best strength and all my courage and I had much to show. But I felt that if those men could see with their own eyes what that investment signified in the way of human endurance, they would meet me in more generous spirit when we came to make our bargain.
Up to then the legal papers had only been waved under my nose in threatening manner. I asked permission to examine them, and the lawyer was very obliging. They were all-embracing, even to granting powers of attorney to the underwriters’ agents to handle the matter in all its aspects.
“Gentlemen,” I said, “I’m going down after the rest of that gold, and every box will be put into your hands as it comes up.”
I got a glimpse at the girl’s face, but I did not dare to look into her eyes. Her cheeks were white, and she was gasping protests which nobody heeded, for those men were listening to something which filled their ears just then: