In silence the trio watched and waited. Every movement of the two comrades was noted. What they were the reader already knows.
For a time the watchers were puzzled, but then as the two men began gathering dried sticks from under the sheltered rocks, the truth gradually became plain. Paul Chicot gave vent to a long, low whistle.
"They've holed the game!"
"Surely the fools ain't going to venture in?"
"It is foolish, but they show plenty o' grit. You see now what you wanted to buck ag'inst."
"If they go in there, the game's in our hands!" exultantly muttered Upshur, his eyes glowing wickedly.
"What d'y' mean by that?"
"Can't we block them in? Then they'll have a good chance to fight it out with those they are hunting, while we can take our time about the gold. In that way we get rid ef them without killing them, and just as effectually too."
"I don't see much difference, if ye l'ave them there to starve," slowly commented Tim Dooley, for the first time for hours giving his opinion, in this respect being very different from the popular idea of an Irishman.
"If you're so cursed tender-hearted, why don't you go an offer to help them? Had I known what a milksop you were I'd never have lifted a finger to help you to a fortune."