“Why doesn’t Toosa run—Toosa! Toosa—run while he’s not watching!” shrilled Bill breaking from the hut.
Toosa made one gesture, a slight gesture. Bill saw it and stopped, while Tom advanced to Bill’s side, though both retired into the hut’s shadow as Henry, with a muttered word that was not good to hear, swung on his heel, caught his balance and glowered toward the hut. Then he pulled the trigger; there was a flash, but while Bill flung Tom back into the hut, neither was struck, nor did they hear where the bullet went.
Henry instantly swung back to face Toosa who had not moved.
“Come!” he shouted. “Tell me. Where is Mort Beecher! Where is that Golden Sun mine he told me about! You know! You can tell! Tell now, if you want—want see sun—sun rise in morning!”
Toosa, arms folded, waited, wordless.
“Oh, all right!” Henry growled, his voice shaking. He took another huge gulp from a calabash of liquid fire, choked, gasped and then re-sighted his rifle.
“Tell!” he called.
Tom held tightly to Bill’s arm.
There came the flash and roar of the rifle.
Toosa did not move!