This time Emery succeeded. But the big man was noisy and profane, even after his sleep-stained eyes had caught the glint of Dick’s weapon.
“Keep quiet!” ordered Dick, almost beside himself with fear. “Keep quiet! If you don’t I’ll drill you through and through. Give me the contents of that poke!”
The campfire glowed an angry red. In its ghostly light the two prospectors turned out their pockets, defiantly. Dick recovered his own money, watch and the huge roll of bills, belonging to Creel, Toma’s jack-knife, Sandy’s pocket-compass, and two keys on a ring. The articles were so many and varied that he soon perceived that he would not have room for them about his person. So he compelled Emery to tie them up in a bundle, flung over his own coat for the purpose. But where was the treasure? Nonplussed, Dick stared from one to the other.
“Where’s the contents of Dewberry’s poke?” Emery gave Dick a look of unutterable surprise—and almost choked. Burnnel laughed scornfully.
“We ain’t got it.”
“What have you done with it?”
“Ain’t never had it,” said Emery, choking with laughter.
“You lie!” exclaimed Dick hotly. “Creel told me that you took it away from him.”
“No, you’re wrong, pardner. If Creel told yuh that, he was spoofin’ yuh. We ain’t never even seen him.”
“If that’s true,” said Dick, white to the lips, “how did you manage to get Creel’s roll?”