"I ain't starin' at nothin'. I was a-wonderin' how in the dickens we could git to that 'ere gold mine fust."
A fierce scowl passed across Pete's face; his fists were clenched; he rose to his feet, and, after an instant, picked up a switch with which, to Jimmy's relief, he began to lash the tops of the grass.
"I knows a heap sight more'n anybody thinks I does," he growled. "One day, I—I—is any one a-comin'? No! Wal, one day, I seen 'em all lookin' at a drawin' clos't to the winder—heard the big un say as how Bob Somers done it."
Jimmy grunted rather dubiously.
"So up I crep'," went on Pete. "Jist fur fun, ye understan'—there ain't nothin' mean 'bout me. An'—say—if we could git a-holt o' that thing, eh?" He wagged his head knowingly.
"Ye—ye wouldn't swipe it?" cried Jimmy, aghast.
"Of course not; but—but, if Somers was ketched alone some day! See the p'int, Jimmy? He might git kind o' scared, eh?"
Pete felt his muscular arms.
"Wouldn't s'prise me," admitted Jimmy.
"An' he'd fork it out fur a spell. If I'd know'd I was a-goin', it wouldn't have been me who would have gived the thing away to Slater's men." He kicked the turf spitefully.