“Oh, Bry!” I said—softly, so as not to be heard by the robbers below—and clasped the black hands fervently in both my own.
Bry squatted beside us, his kindly face wreathed in smiles.
“Dey send me up here to see if anyone ’round,” he whispered. “In a minute I go back and say ‘no.’”
“Can’t you stay with us, Bry?” I asked, pleadingly.
“Not yet, Mars Sam. Dey very bad mans, down dere. Dey kill you quick if dey find you.”
“We’ve got the gold, Bry!”
“I know. I see you in the de wood; I follow your footprints all way home; I see you climbin’ up rock. Den I see de sand been dig up, so I knew you got gold.”
“Did they suspect us at all, Bry?”
“No, Mars Sam. Dey too busy tryin’ to kill each other. All want to have gold for himself, so all try to kill everyone else. Very bad mans, Mars Sam.”
“They’re going to take you on the ship, and make you sail it,” said I.