"Didn't I put the pistols there, mate? I haven't got 'em about me." He spoke carelessly.
"Oh, they're here," Gray returned. "But that's all the food left. Still, there's enough to last us for a day or two."
"A kind of grim sort of picnic, isn't it?" said Lumley with a grin, as he took up a bit of damper. He ate a few mouthfuls and then drew out the bottle for another sip. "Here's to you, partner," he said with an awkward nod at Gray, "and good luck to both on us."
Gray returned his nod, but made no answer in words. Lumley put back the bottle again, and watched him for a moment from beneath his heavy brows.
"You don't bear no malice, I hope, mate?" he said suddenly.
Gray raised his heavy eyes and looked at him inquiringly.
"I was pretty rough on you last night," went on Lumley in a persuasive, apologetic tone; "but I was drove up in a corner, you see. I'd served you so bad that I reckoned you'd be glad enough to pay me out. Though I'd have sent back for you from the nearest station, partner. I meant that all along."
Gray did not believe him, but he did not think it worth while to tell him so.
"We'll let bygones be bygones, Lumley," he said in a friendly tone. "We've both had a hard time of it, but it's nearly over now, I hope. And you'll be able to trust me for the future."
"So I shall, so I shall, partner," returned Lumley rapidly. "'Tisn't many as would have come back—not after they'd got the horse and everything. What a bit of luck 'twould have been for you if you'd come back and found me dead. Didn't you hope you would, now?"