Lodar turned his back and they heard him break two of the matches. When he faced them again there were three little sticks in his large fist. Only the tops showed.
He extended his arm to McVane. "You first. It was your idea!"
McVane blinked, biting his lip, then slowly chose one of the little bits of wood. His hand closed over it, felt it blindly, then he sat down licking his lips. As an afterthought he reached for the bottle.
Lodar grunted, a satisfied grin distorted his split lips.
"You next." His black eyes burned on Ray.
The younger man took one of the two remaining matches. He exhaled sharply as he drew out a whole one.
Lodar rasped an oath, drew the remaining match across the room. "You win!" he ground out.
Ray relaxed slowly. A faint surprise tinged his relief. He had misjudged Lodar, expecting him at the last moment to renege. Instead, the big man had merely turned to McVane.
"So you and I are the hostages, eh, Mac?" A grim smile lit his face, while his hand rested briefly on the other's narrow shoulder. "Come on, let's get going."
The three men prepared the escape boat. As they loaded the little ship with extra provisions, Ray was alert for treachery, but the captain seemed to have taken his fate philosophically. He even tried to cheer up McVane, though his heavy witticisms only made the little man look sadder.