Tug had no answer for him, and Charlie went on in his halting fashion.
"It—don't—matter. I was thinking of my—folks."
"Sure. I know." Tug sighed in a relief he could not have explained.
He waited.
For some time the sick man made no answer. It almost seemed as if his straining intellect had been overtaxed, for the glazing eyes remained immovable, and, to the waiting man, he might have been already dead.
He bent over him, his anxiety driving him to reassure himself. It was his movement that again broke the deathly spell. Slowly a gleam of intelligence struggled into the staring eyes, and the man's lips moved.
"It's my share—my—share—of the gold." He gave a short quick gasp. "I want them—to—have—it. It—was—for them."
Tug nodded.
"I know. You always said you wanted it for your folks. I'll—see they get it. Is—there anything else?"
"No. Say——"