“Think so, Benny?” he said ponderously.  “Being as I’ve worked on this lay a long time, since I let you others in on it, since I led you to it—­think that’s the fair way to split it?  Now suppose you listen to me.  You boys ain’t mentioned a split because it was none of your say and you knew it.  Say, in round numbers—­but there’s ten times that—­that there’s a million dollars tucked away here.  Why, there’s mines all through these mountains that never thought of stopping at a million; that was just a fair start!  Well, to get going, say there’s an even million.  I get just half that; that leaves half a million, don’t it?  Now, shut up a minute!” he commanded truculently as more than one man stirred.  “Listen to me.  That’s five hundred thousand to split between four of you; that’s over a hundred thousand for every man jack of you.  And that’s what I call a fair split.”

They growled in their throats at that, but no man took it upon himself to speak out definitely, though they glanced sidewise among themselves.  Benny, who always had a thought of his own, said quietly: 

“What are you doin’ about Gratton?  He’ll claim his share, won’t he?  And, if you say him no, he’ll shoot his face off, won’t he?”

“No,” said Brodie.  “He won’t.”  He paused, swallowed the last of his beef, caught up a bottle from Benny’s side, and drank deeply.  Benny, afraid that this bottle, too, still nearly full, would be broken, hastily snatched it back when Brodie had done.

“No,” said Brodie heavily.  “Gratton won’t talk.”  He grew suddenly quick-spoken—­he broke into a volley of accusation; his tongue lent itself to such a rush of vileness that Gloria, shrinking back, covered her ears with her hands.  “Gratton stole grub.  When grub-stealing was the same as slitting a man’s throat.  And what next does he plan?  Why, to make trouble; to swear that Benny killed a man; that we was all in it; to get us all hung, if he can, or in the pen; then to grab what’s ours.  Look at him.  You can see it in his frog eyes!  He’s done, that’s what he is!” With a swift gesture his gun was at his shoulder.

Gratton scrambled to his feet with a choking cry.  Gloria, too, had sprung up, sick with horror.  She looked from Brodie to Gratton, who was not two feet from her.  She saw that he was panic-stricken; his fear was choking him, stopping his heart, paralysing his muscles.  He wanted to run and could not; he tried to speak but now not even a whisper came from between his writhing lips.

Slowly, an unshaken, senseless piece of machinery, Brodie raised his rifle.  Now Gratton’s voice returned to him; a strangling cry broke from his agonized soul.  A hand, wildly outthrown, caught at Gloria’s sleeve.

“You, there,” called Brodie, “stand aside.  Unless you’re wanting yours too!”

Her own heart was stopping, her feet were leaded.  She understood what he said—­she knew that it was to her that he spoke—­but she wouldn’t believe, couldn’t believe that he meant—­that!