"Thank you. No, it was not of that I was going to speak. I want to tell you that about six weeks ago—it was in August—I was up on Buzzard Mountain one night, and I fell asleep there."
Pink looked at him suspiciously in the darkness, and put a piece of the road between them.
"I fell asleep on a ledge of r-rock, and when I woke up I heard voices just under me."
"The hell ye did!"
"It was you and Bud."
"Well, what ye goin' to do about hit? Hit ain' befittin' you to squeal on us."
Von Rittenheim turned hot in the darkness, and made an impulsive motion that induced a corresponding disturbance in his companion.
"If I had thought of doing that I should not have spoken to you to-night."
Pressley nodded, and came across the intervening space.
"You-all wan' to come into the game, eh?"