The following morning Lawless suggested a ride as the only entertainment
he had to offer. There were only two mounts, he explained, and looked
at Van Bleit. Van Bleit remarked that it would be fairly slow for the
third man.
"Let's take our guns and tramp," he said. "There ought to be something
in that bush yonder."
"There isn't," Lawless answered. "I've been there myself."
"It would give some sort of object for the walk," Van Bleit observed.
"I can loaf about here very well by myself," Denzil put in obligingly,
missing the venom of the glance Van Bleit shot at him, a glance that
Lawless intercepted and read aright. Van Bleit was not minded to trust
himself alone in his company. There was not a shadow of doubt in his
mind any longer that the Dutchman was suspicious of his intentions. It
remained for him to lull those suspicions if possible.
"Come on, Karl," he said. "Take your gun with you if you're keen on
potting things. But don't expect much. I've been over the ground too
often to hamper myself with carrying a gun. I'll leave the killing to
you. Sure you don't mind?" he asked, turning to Denzil.
"Not in the least. I'll potter about here. It's more in my line."
Van Bleit did not like the arrangement, but he went. When a man has a
gun loaded in both barrels slung across his shoulders, and a revolver
charged in all six chambers in his right-hand pocket, he is fairly well
provided against attack. It amused Lawless to observe how careful his
companion was to ride on his left, and how persistently he kept his
right hand in his pocket. He rode himself with both hands quite as
ostentatiously displayed on the reins. Whenever he moved the right in
the performance of the most simple office he was conscious of being
observed until he returned it to its position on the rein. The
knowledge that Van Bleit distrusted him gave him a peculiar sense of
satisfaction. It was more to his liking to outwit a rogue who was
prepared than to take advantage of a man's trust. He was glad to feel
at this stage that they faced one another as foes.
During that ride, between the fragments of conversation, Lawless decided
that on some such expedition as the present he would lead Van Bleit to a
given place, and, with Tottie's assistance, overpower him and get hold
of what he wanted. In view of the shortness of the time in which to
carry out his designs, it was necessary to put his plans into prompt
effect. He determined upon seeing Tottie that night. He would slip out
when the others were asleep and make his way to the hut. Then, if he
could induce Van Bleit to fall in with his arrangements in the morning,
success would be fairly assured. His policy in the meantime was to
allay Van Bleit's suspicions. In this he had succeeded fairly well so
far. On the homeward journey Van Bleit rode most of the way with his
right hand on his thigh; and once, Lawless noticed, when he plunged his
own right hand into his pocket his companion did not appear in the least
apprehensive. However much he doubted him, it was plain he had given up
all thought of treachery on that occasion.
"I suggest we stick indoors and play cards this afternoon," Van Bleit
proposed when they got back. He swung his heavy frame out of the
saddle. "It's warm," he said.
Van Bleit was lucky at cards. He played for high stakes; it was one of
his varied methods of obtaining a livelihood. Certainly that afternoon
he became no poorer. He and Denzil between them swept in the stakes.
"We'll give you your revenge," he said to Lawless.
And after supper they resumed their game and played far into the night.
It was Lawless who eventually insisted on leaving off. He had been
chafing for some time, thinking of his thwarted plans. Van Bleit, he
knew, was likely enough to play through into the dawn. He pushed back
his chair at last and rose.
"If you fellows don't want any sleep," he said, "I do. We've another
day before us."
Van Bleit laughed, rose, and stretched himself with a huge yawn.
"Late, is it? I never regard the time I spend over cards--or women," he
said. He finished his glass of whisky and scooped in his gains.
"To-morrow I'll give you a chance of winning some of this back."
Lawless lighted the candles.
"Right!" he said. "I have a feeling that the luck is on the turn."
"Then you ought to play on... She's a fickle jade, and will change her
mind in the daylight."
"I'll risk that. A man can't be expected to play cards if he's dead
asleep."
Lawless' look of alertness when he was alone in the bedroom belied the
plea of fatigue. He made such sounds and preparations as he deemed
suitable for a man retiring to rest, and kicking off his boots, blew out
the light, and flung himself dressed upon the bed. He listened intently
to the sounds from the adjoining room. The jerky scraps of conversation
between the two men were perfectly audible to him. It was rather like
people talking in the same apartment with a screen dividing them. It
would require the exercise of the utmost caution to leave the house
without arousing their attention.
"Old Grit always had the rottenest luck at cards," he heard Van Bleit
mumbling. "But it's made up to him in other ways."
And Denzil in a sleepy drawl replied:
"Don't believe in luck... When a man gets a thing it's because he goes
for it in the right way."