“Guess you’re right,” he acknowledged.
Kirk stooped and lifted an old oil can, its spout spearing a piece of potato. The can seemed to fascinate him. He plucked away the potato and tipped the can. He poured out a few drops on the floor. Then he put down the can and his eyes turned back to Teagler.
“You got yourself in this,” he muttered, “with that cursed wireless thing of yours.”
Teagler’s muscles tautened as he read the other’s thoughts.
“You’d take a chance like that?” he drawled.
The prospector realized fear, nor was he ashamed of it. What an inglorious ending this would be, to his years of hopes.
“I’d as soon swing as go to the pen for a dozen years,” replied Kirk. “Besides, they’d never catch me. No one has seen me here. They couldn’t possibly connect me with it.”
He was arguing with himself, out loud, Teagler decided. The prospector’s mind worked under feverish pressure. He sought to get back to calmer thinking.
“How do you know I’d tell?” he asked.
Kirk laughed harshly, mockingly.