‘Curse you!’
More brandy, and he spoke again.
‘Is he there yet?’
‘He’s there yet,’ answered Treloar. ‘How long ago was it?’
‘Ten year.’
‘What did you kill him for?’
More brandy; and then, as his eyes brightened, he laughed, actually
laughed up at us, saying, in a strong voice,—
‘Why, you fool, for the big lump, o’ coorse! A ’underd an’ eighty
ounces! Too big to share, I reckon. I’d a-smashed a dozen men for it
in them days, let alone a poor softy like Jim.’
‘There must be thirty or forty ounces down there,’ I remarked. ‘Why
didn’t you take that too?’
‘Never you mind,’ he said. ‘I come back for it now. And if it hadn’t
been for that theer infernal dorg I’d ha’ had it.’
‘And how about us?’ asked Treloar, as, obeying the look in his eyes,
he gave him another drink.
[Illustration: Upon the rope coils lay “Brummy,” quite still.
(Page 87)]
The dying man smiled significantly, but said nothing. There was a long
pause, during which Brummy shut his eyes, and breathed stertorously,
whilst _Kálee_, drawing herself noiselessly along on her belly, came
closer, and looked into his face, but with no anger in her gaze now.
‘There’s one thing I can’t understand,’ said Treloar, in a low voice,
‘and that is how he contrived to get up this shaft again with the
gold.’