“Not I.”

“I will, then.”

“Why not?  I don’t think you will find anything in it, but anyway you will have a better chance when I am not by to spoil you.  Luck is all against me.  If I want rain, comes drought; if I want sun, look for a deluge, if there is money to be made by a thing I’m out of it; to be lost, I’m in it; if I loved a vixen she’d drop into my arms like a medlar; I love an angel and that is why I shall never have her, never.  From a game of marbles to the game of life I never had a grain of luck like other people.  Leave me, Tom, and try if you can find gold; you will have a chance, my poor fellow, if unlucky George is not aside you.”

“Leave you, George! not if I know it.”

“You are to blame if you don’t.  Turn your back on me as I did on you in England.”

“Never!  I’d rather not find gold than part with honesty.  There, I’m coming—­let us go—­quick—­come, let us leave here.”  And the two men left the road and turned their faces and their steps across the ravine.

During all this dialogue the men in the cave had strained both eyes and ears to comprehend the speakers.  The distance was too great for them to catch all the words, but this much was clear from the first, that one of the men wished to stay on the spot for some purpose, and the other to go on; but presently, as the speakers warmed, a word traveled down the breeze that made the four ruffians start and turn red with surprise, and the next moment darken with anger and apprehension.  The word came again and again; they all heard it—­its open vowel gave it a sonorous ring; it seemed to fly farther than any other word the speaker uttered, or perhaps when he came to it he spoke it louder than smaller words, or the hearers’ ears were watching for it.

The men interchanged terrible looks, and then they grasped their knives and watched their leader’s eye for some deadly signal.  Again and again the word “g-o-l-d” came like an Aeolian note into the secret cave, and each time eye sought eye and read the unlucky speaker’s death-warrant there.  But when George prevailed and the two men started for the valley, the men in the cave cast uncertain looks on one another, and he we have called Jem drew a long breath and said brutally, yet with something of satisfaction, “You have saved your bacon this time.”  The voices now drew near and the men crouched close, for George and Robinson passed within fifteen yards of them.  They were talking now about matters connected with George’s business, for Robinson made a violent effort and dropped his favorite theme to oblige his comrade.  They passed near the cave, and presently their backs were turned to it.

“Good-by, my lads,” whispered Jem.  “And curse you for making us lose a good half hour,” muttered another of the gang.  The words were scarce out of his mouth before a sudden rustle was heard and there was Carlo.  He had pulled up in mid career and stood transfixed with astonishment, literally pointing the gang; it was but for a moment—­he did not like the looks of the men at all; he gave a sharp bark that made George and Robinson turn quickly round, and then he went on hunting.