As these words reached their ears, the two men muttered exclamations of dismay.
“Who the deuce is it?”
“Where in thunder is he?”
“I’m right here. You fellows are treading on my corns. This is my pasture—get out.”
“Not much we won’t. We’ll slit your wizen first, I reckon. We’re in this here game now for keeps,” growled the man named Bill.
“Then you must go snacks. I’ll furnish the information, and you do the work—an equalization of labor—ain’t that fair?”
“Where the silver is kept—it ain’t been brought out yet awhile, and by a little bold work the hull of it can be spirited away.”
At this the two men can hardly restrain their delight.
“Lead us to it, and the third is yourn.”