Steele held this on his open palm, gazing at it like one hypnotised.
“My God!” he groaned at last, “soap—Amalgamated Soap! Peter Berrington and Nicholson! Trapped, as I am a fool and a sinner! These muleteers are the real chiefs of this expedition. They saw Alice Fuller weakening; but she weakened too late, and now they have sent her away. What’s the object of all this? It is too fantastic to imagine that Nicholson supposes he can exact all I possess as ransom. Even the Black Hills are not the mountains of Greece. What is it, then? Murder? That’s equally incredible, and yet possible. Here am I unarmed, rifles in the boxes, no one with me but a cowardly nigger. Walked right into the trap with my eyes open, like a gaping idiot! Well, John Steele, you deserve all you will get! Let’s discover what it is.”
He strode out of the tent. The negro was preparing breakfast. The three men stood in a group together, talking, but they looked round and became silent as he approached.
“I have changed my mind,” said Steele; “we’re going back to the railway.”
“Oh, no, we’re not,” said one of the men, stepping forward, and taking a revolver from his hip pocket; “we’re going on to the mine.”
“Is there a mine?” asked Steele, with a sneering laugh.
“Oh, there’s a mine all right enough, and they’re waiting for you there.”
“Who?”
“You’ll find out about twelve o’clock to-day.”
“See here, boys,” said Steele persuasively, “I’ll make you three the richest men in this part of the country if you’ll accompany me safely back to the railway.”