If it had not been that there was a great deal of high, dry grass, that would crackle if I tried to run through it, I would have attempted to rush in on Buckrow and knock him senseless with the butt of a pistol.  But as Thirkle sat facing in my direction, and there was little chance of getting to Buckrow before Thirkle would see me and give the alarm, or Buckrow hear me coming, I knew the only thing to do was to kill or wound Buckrow, even though I had to shoot him in the back.  It seemed an unfair advantage, and nothing better than the act of an assassin; but I reasoned that Thirkle or Buckrow would have little mercy on me if I fell into their power.

So I arose cautiously, and, parting the grass before me, reached for my pistol.

CHAPTER XVII

THE ART OF THIRKLE

“So Jim’s done for, ye say,” said Buckrow.  “Good job ye made of it coming back this way, and good job for me ye did, and the worse for Thirkle.”

“Clean job all around, Bucky, and I’m back to have my cut of the pile,” and then I was sure of dreaming, for that was the voice of Petrak, and it seemed to me that Petrak ought to be millions of miles away, although I could not quite settle in my mind just how it was, except that I knew it couldn’t be Petrak speaking—­I was dreaming it, and yet I couldn’t be dreaming that awful pain in my head.  I tried to open my eyes, but couldn’t.

“Then the Kut Sang didn’t go down at all,” said Thirkle’s voice.  “Nice job you two will have getting clear of this place with the gold now.  Our dear friend, Mr. Trenholm isn’t alone, I’ll bet a hat on that.”

“Bet yer hat with the devil himself for all the good it will bring,” growled Buckrow.  “This ain’t none of your affair, Mr. Thirkle, and I’ll thank ye to pipe down and wait until we ask ye to talk.”

“What’s up now, Bucky?” asked Petrak.  “What’s wrong now, and what’s wrong with Thirkle’s head?  Been up—­”

“We got Thirkle, too, that’s what.  He tried to do for me and I sapped him, and there he is, nice as pie.  Wanted it all, he did, Reddy.  Don’t he look calm and peaceful there, with his hands crossed like a dead one?  That’s Mr. Thirkle for ye, all nice and snug, so he can’t cut a man’s throat when a chap ain’t minding of him.  Tried it on me no sooner as ye and Long Jim was gone, and I give him what he come for.”

“Blow me for a blind beggar!” said Petrak, and I opened my eyes and saw the three of them, Thirkle, facing me, and Buckrow and Petrak standing over me as I lay on my back on the damp ground.

“That’s Mr. Buckrow,” sneered Thirkle.  “He wants it all, Reddy, and he’ll play you the same when he gets it.  He wants it all, and don’t waste your time counting up the guineas ye’ll have, because Buckrow will have ’em all, and you and I dead and gone under ground hereabouts.”

“So Thirkle wanted to do for ye, hey, Bucky?  Who looked for it?  But he ought to knowed better as to come any smart tricks with ye, Bucky, and we’re pals, ain’t we, Bucky?  Say we’re pals if ye like and I’ll do my part.”