"Why don't you cure him up?" demanded the envoy, sharply, "the swamp fever is nothing if it's treated right."
"We haven't a grain of medicine," Walter replied. "But state your errand," he added sharply.
"Look here," said the young outlaw after a short pause. "I talked those fellows into this conference idea so as to get a good chance to speak with you fellows. I am sick of that gang. I am not as bad as they, and I am clean disgusted with them. I want to join forces with you fellows. I know they are bound to finish you sooner or later, but I would rather die with gentlemen than to live with murderers."
"We cannot afford to take any chances," Walter said decidedly.
"But you are taking chances, chances on the life of your friend," said the outlaw sharply. "I can cure him, I tell you. I studied medicine and I have a few things in my bag."
"Can we risk it?" said Walter, wavering, and turning to the captain for advice.
"We can risk anything for Charley's sake," said the old sailor, eagerly. "We can shoot him at the first sign of treachery. Let him in, Walt."
"I have got to go back for my things," interrupted the outlaw, whose keen ears had caught the low conversation. "I'll be back again in a minute. I'll fix up some excuse to return. I guess pretending that you are considering surrendering will do as well as anything else."
Walter gazed after the young fellow's retreating form with reluctant admiration. "He moves like a trained athlete and he hasn't got a bad face," he admitted. "I pray he does not prove to be our undoing."
"We must take the chance, lad," said the captain. "Better remove the post so he can get inside quick."