“Right you are, but it’s time we had this stuff cleaned up now.  You and Mr. Trenholm set at it while I put Bucky under ground.”

Petrak and I resumed the work of carrying the sacks into the crevice, while Thirkle busied himself at digging a grave in the soft sand near the place they had deposited Buckrow’s body.  The little red-headed man began to whistle a music-hall tune softly, but Thirkle cautioned him against making any unnecessary noise.

I was in an agony from my cramped position, and tugging at the sacks served to increase my torture.  The tangle of ropes which Buckrow had put on my ankles caught in loose stones and chafed the flesh until the blood came; and my wrists, pulled down with tight knots, which I had to strain against to keep my balance, throbbed and pained and tingled, my arms being numbed by the blood in the bound arteries.

Petrak kept before me, with the sacks between us, and his bloody knife pulled to the front of his belt.  After he had stowed each sack he helped me back out, or assisted me to turn, which was always a hard task for me.

If I let my end of the sack slip out of my fingers he was ready for me with knife or pistol, so there was no opportunity to take a pistol or knife from him, even if I had not been helplessly hobbled.

“Mind ye don’t try any monkey-business with me,” he warned the second time we went in.  “If ye do, I’ll give ye what Bucky got, and ye mind that.  I’m no gent to fool with, as ye ought to savvy by this; and if ye think I be, try something.”

But, for all his warning, I was ready to risk death if I saw the chance to make a fight.  I hoped that Thirkle would give him more of the brandy, but Thirkle kept the bottle to himself.  When we pressed into the crevice I wore the ropes on my wrists against the stones as much as I could, trying to cut the bonds on the rough points of the walls.  Once I stumbled and fell and groped for a splinter of stone, but he menaced me with his knife and kicked me until I got to my feet again.

I had given up hope of being rescued by Captain Riggs.  Even if he found the camp, I doubted that he would attack until it would be too late for me, as he would naturally suppose Buckrow and Long Jim to be near by.

It was coming on toward twilight, and there were still seven sacks to be carried in.  Thirkle had finished burying Buckrow, and set to dragging the sacks close to the entrance of the crevice, so we would not have to carry them so far.

Petrak made several attempts to talk with him; but Thirkle made short answers, for when he took the pistols he had dropped his mask of affability and assumed his old commanding airs.

“It’ll be dark before we get back to the boats,” suggested Petrak, as we stood over the five sacks which were left.

“Mighty dark,” said Thirkle gruffly, sitting cross-legged, counting a packet of English banknotes.

“That’s what ye want, aint’ it?” asked Petrak, who noticed that Thirkle was not so friendly as he had been.