“Yes,” cried Nicky hotly, “and if he ‘starts’ anything, I’ll start him toward that chasm over yonder!”
The man riding toward them was quite tall, and rangey of build. He did not show his full height for he rode, as he walked, stooped over. He seemed to be in the last stages of physical slovenliness, and—even ignoring the scar across his face from the base of his nose to his left jawbone—his features looked sinister. Actually it was moral laxity, too much drinking and careless living that had pulled down a frame which must at one time have been erect and powerful, and broke a once daring spirit till it looked out of bleary eyes with dull, apathetic boredom.
“Well, are you following us?” Nicky spoke up as soon as the man was close enough to hear.
The man rode up closer still, reined in his pony, dropped the leather onto the animal’s neck and smiled ingratiatingly.
“Yes,” he said, in a husky, whispering sort of way, “I’m follerin’ you. ’Cause why? That’s what you want to know. ’Cause why! Ain’t it so?”
“Certainly we want to know,” chimed in Cliff. “Why are you following us?”
“He-he-he-he!” It was a shrill, cracked sort of laugh. “’Cause Henry Morgan smells money—that’s why!”
“Henry Morgan!——” Nicky started. He read a great deal about pirates and piracy because he had been interested in the cipher which Captain Kidd had given to one of his ancestors, “Henry Morgan! Any relation to the old pirate?” None of them were afraid; they were simply curious, and a little bit annoyed.
“Henry Morgan—the pirate! He-he-he! Maybe. Who knows! Can pirates smell money?”
“They must,” Nicky declared. “They were always crazy about getting it.”