“If you heard so much, Mr. Rouzee, as you say, surely you heard Maxwell’s last words?” coldly added Major Calhoun. “We prefer not to part with you; at least, not until we have reached a safer portion of the country than this is.”
“True as preachin’!” softly interjected the old guide.
“Do you mean to detain me against my will?” said Dusky Dick, stepping back a pace.
“If necessary—yes.”
“By force?”
“By force, if you compel us to adopt harsh measures,” impatiently exclaimed the major.
“Now look here, Mr. Calhoun,” began Rouzee, in a firm tone. “I’m a free man, and not bound to you in any way. I have honestly performed my part of the contract, thus far, and if I choose to leave you now, all you can do is to retain my wages. Do this if you will, but I’ll not stay with you any longer.”
“Ef I hed a jass-ack what wouldn’t go, d’y’ think I’d wallop ’im?—bet your monkey-musek I would!” gently whistled Tom Maxwell, eying Dusky Dick with a benignant smile from beneath his battered slouch hat.
“You are but one—we are three—or if but one word is spoken aloud, fifty.”
“And I am Dusky Dick!” cried the guide, in a defiant tone. “You have heard of me before now, but you will know me, if you persist in this outrage. I tell you that I will go, and there is but one thing that can stop me—death!” and as he spoke, he leaped back so as to place the trio in front of him, and drawing a brace of revolvers, he cocked them with a clear, significant click.