“Yur won’t wonder, then, why I tuk so much pains, six years ago, to send yur out o’ the way? No doubt yur did wonder at that?”
“I did; I don’t now. It is all clear enough!”
“An’ I reck’n it’ll be equally clar to ye, thet yur comin’ back ain’t a gwine to do me any good. Jest ruinates me, that’s all.”
“I don’t see that, Jerry Rook.”
“Ye don’t! But this chile do. The minute any o’ them six sets eyes on yur my game’s up, an’ thar’s nothin’ more left but clear out o’ this, an’ take to the trees agin. At my time o’ life that ere’ll be pleasant.”
“You mean that by my showing myself you would lose the six hundred dollars per annum I’ve heard you make mention of.”
“Not only thet, but—I reckin I may as well tell yer—I am in debt to Alf Brandon, an’ it war only by his believin’ in your death I hev been able to stave it off. Now, Pierre Robideau!”
In his turn the gold-seeker stood reflecting.
“Well, Jerry Rook,” he rejoined, after a time, “as to the black mail you’ve been levying on these six scoundrels, I have no particular wish to see them relieved of it. It is but a just punishment for what they did to me, and to tell you the truth, it has, to some extent, taken the sting out of my vengeance, for I had come back determined upon a terrible satisfaction. While serving yourself you’ve been doing some service to me!”
“May be,” suggested the old pirate, pleased at the turn matters appeared to be taking, “maybe Pierre, ye’d like things to go on as they air, an’ let me gi’e you more o’ the same sort o’ satisfackshun? Thar’s a way o’ doin’ it, without any harm to yurself. It’s only for you to keep out o’ sight.”