Sandy jumped as if shot, so sudden was Dick’s exclamation. “Let’s hear it,” the young Scotch lad cried eagerly. Toma brightened.
Dick turned to Toma. “Sandy or I would be glad to do this,” he addressed the young guide, “but it’s just about impossible for us. Can I depend on your support, Toma?”
“I do my best; what you say I do?” Toma promised sincerely.
“My plan is this: when Govereau questions you, Toma, you are to express a desire to join him—to turn against us. See? With you on the outside there’s much more chance of escaping than with all three of us in here. Can you do it, Toma?”
“I try.”
“Then I’ll leave everything to you once you get outside. Of course, Govereau may get wise to what you are up to. But, again, he’s no doubt pretty anxious to get more men in his band.”
As Dick concluded his instructions, there came a noise at the door, and the bolt was shot back. A sharp, rat-like face, that of a half-breed, was pushed in. “You come,” said the man, indicating Dick.
Dick and Sandy both realized that a crisis was at hand. If they revealed their real mission to Govereau they would without doubt never reach the mounted police. Perhaps they would not reach them anyway, yet there was a good chance that Govereau might let them go if they convinced him of their ignorance of any of Henderson’s business.
“Good luck, Dick,” Sandy’s voice was a little husky.
“Never mind, old boy, I’ll make out,” Dick cheered him.