It was a difficult problem, for Chandler had a revolver and the Parson had none. This was evidently a case where cunning and not brute force were to tell, and the Parson knitted his learned brows thoughtfully. Meanwhile the conversation was going on, and taking a new turn. Bull Harris had a proposition.
“I suppose you fellows are ready to acknowledge you’re beaten,” he sneered. “And I suppose you’ve got sense enough to see what a fix you’re in.”
To tell the truth, the whole Seven saw it clearly, but they were not ready to acknowledge it to Bull.
“I just want to say,” the latter continued, after a moment’s pause, “that there’s a way for you fools to get out of this. If you don’t choose to do it you may as well make up your minds to stay all night.”
“I suppose,” responded Mark, laughing at this introduction to a very obvious offer. “I suppose you think we’re going to let you get hold of our treasure. I suppose you think we’ll purchase our freedom with that.”
“That’s what I do,” said Bull, “else you stay.”
“We’ll stay,” laughed Mark, coolly. “And you can go to blazes.”
This proposition was not lost upon the Parson, lying in the bushes outside. The Parson had drunk in every word of it, and for some reason began to gasp and wriggle with suppressed excitement as he realized the meaning of the offer. As Mark spoke the last time the Parson slid back into the woods and stole softly around to the rear of the little building.
A few moments later, Mark, to his astonishment, heard a faint whisper in one of the crevices at the back. “Say, Mark!” That voice Mark would have known had he heard it in China. He ran to the spot and there was a minute’s quick conversation. At the end of it the Parson turned and crept way again, unseen by the two in front.
Perhaps five minutes later Bull Harris, who was still crowing merrily, was electrified to learn that the plebes had reconsidered their first defiance—that the gold was his!