“Don’t leave the crowd, and you’re safe ’gainst all tricks,” he said.
I went down at once, came to the doorway, and, awaiting me there in the
dim light, I found that wicked, white-faced little man, Olaffson, the
Icelander.
Naturally, I began to accuse him, but he stopped me by pushing a note
into my hand.
“I’ve broke with Redpath,” he said. “That’ll show ye where he is. He’s
away from here, an’ left me without a cent.”
I was in a dilemma. I could only read well enough to make out a few
words of print, and this scrawl was something beyond me. I handed it
back, declaring that it was too dark to see, and at the same time
expressing my disbelief in its genuineness.
“All right,” said the Icelander, “I ain’t your friend. I told you that
before. Now Redpath’s quit me. See here!”
It was a plan which he held up in the dim light--a plan of water,
rocks, and hills. He lowered it quickly, with a grin upon his white
face.
“Going to let me join you?” he suggested. “If you don’t move this time,
I’ve got a few pards around Gull, and they’ll jump fast enough, and
pool their savings.”