While the Professor nervously continued to fill the canvas bags from the pit and to seal each one securely, we counselled together in whispers as to the best method of dealing with Gege-Merak. The sailors and Bryonia loaded the sacks into the panniers of the camels, which were strongly woven of rushes, as fast as they were filled and sealed, and still the pit seemed to contain as many jewels and precious stones as had been removed. We began to tremble with a realization of the hugeness of the treasure, and to understand that in spite of our ample provision to carry it, some must be left behind. But that meant turning it over to the chief, who now knew its location, unless——
“Gege-Merak must die!” growled the little Professor, through his teeth. His face was pale and his eyes were glittering with excitement.
Some of us breathed deeply; but none made reply in words. I dreaded the necessity as much as any one could, but saw clearly that the chief’s death was inevitable. It meant not only our protection, but perhaps our salvation. We were now burdened with too vast a store of wealth to be safe on the desert for a single moment, if Gege-Merak was to be at large to dog our steps.
We now implored the Professor to return the papyrus rolls to the cavity and take instead more of the treasure; but Van Dorn obstinately refused.
“It is my own share, and you have agreed I should take it,” said he. “There are millions in gold and precious gems, besides; isn’t that enough to satisfy you?”
“But this may be our last chance at the treasure,” replied Uncle Naboth, anxiously.
The Professor gave him a queer look. It seemed defiant and half threatening, but a moment later he dropped his head to resume his work.
“That’s nonsense,” he snapped, wrathfully. “The stuff has lain here for ages, and what we now leave will remain in safety until we can come again—unless we give Gege-Merak a chance to grab it. We mustn’t do that, gentlemen. If the chief lives he will never allow us to reach the ship again; you may be sure of that. We’ve had evidence already of his grasping disposition. It’s our lives against his, now, and we must not hesitate to save ourselves.”
“Bring the chief here, Cunningham,” called Uncle Naboth, peering through the gloom where our sailor sat upon the sand guarding his prisoner.
Cunningham did not move, and Uncle Naboth called again. Then Joe ran across to him, bent over, and gave a cry that raised us all to our feet in an instant.