“No,” answered Dick, “it will stop aching presently, I hope. Thank you, just the same.”
As he spoke, he glanced furtively at the clock. It was now twenty minutes after one—time to wake Sandy and Toma. In less than half an hour they were due to start for the Wandley post. His problem now was to get rid of Nichols. On some pretext or other he must induce Murky to leave the room. But how?
Dick groaned inwardly as the prospector yanked forward a chair and sat down. All the while his black, penetrating eyes were studying him closely. His manner and expression showed only too plainly that he was not in the least deceived by Dick’s lie.
“If I can’t help yuh, I can keep yuh company,” he remarked, his thin lips curling up at the corners in a faint indication of a smile.
“O, no, that won’t be necessary,” Dick hastened to tell him. “You must be tired yourself. It has stopped paining me a little now and I think I’ll pop into bed. You’d better go to your own room, Murky.”
With exasperating slowness, Nichols fumbled in a pocket for tobacco and pipe. He stretched out his long legs at the end of a few minutes, puffing contentedly. Evidently, he had no intention of moving just then.
Dick glanced at the clock again. He had grown desperate—and angry. Back and forth he paced, one hand held to his chin, trying to think of some way in which he might outwit the imperturbable prospector. Anger, finally, overcame his caution and he stopped short in front of the lanky, indolent form.
“I’ll have to ask you to get out,” he heard himself saying. “I’m going to bed.”
Nichols looked up into Dick’s indignant face, grinned exasperatingly, and rose lazily to his feet.
“Well, all right, if yuh say so. I jes’ happened to see your light under the door an’ I thought I’d drop in. Feel kind o’ nervous myself after what happened this afternoon. Don’t care atall ’bout goin’ tuh bed. Guess I’ll walk up an’ down the hall fer a while.”