"Bah! why bring up such things? Of course, I don't mean any thing of the sort. But now, for instance, supposing another train would come along and offer you more—ten times as much as you get for guiding this train—would you accept it?"
"Be I a fool? Of course I would, onless this 'ne was to raise thar pile. I work for money, an' the biggest pile takes my eye," quietly added Paul.
"Well then, supposing I could take you to a gold-mine, within a day's tramp from here, would you desert the train? I say only supposing I could do this."
"That's all bosh. Don't I know thar's none sech 'round here?" contemptuously snorted Chicot.
"But would you?"
"Yas—in a hurry, too."
"Swear it on this," and Upshur adroitly twitched a small metal crucifix from Chicot's bosom, where it hung by a string. "Swear to keep all secret that I tell you now, and never to betray it until I give you free permission."
Chicot, deeply impressed by Upshur's earnestness, obeyed, though still skeptical. And then, after first carefully assuring himself that there were no eavesdroppers near, Upshur unfolded his secret, telling all. How he had first struck scent of the secret, of his eavesdropping, of how he followed the deserters until he had a fair idea of their destination; of all save his connection with the dastardly blow in the dark, and the attempt to fix the crime upon Burr Wythe, for reasons that may hereafter appear.
"Now you know all," he added, "and it is for you to decide whether we are to slave on like dogs, while those three, not a whit better than we, are making themselves rich for life. What do you say?"
"They'd never 'gree to share 'th us," muttered Paul, reflectively, yet with his eyes glowing and his breath quickening.