Dick now had a gun in either hand. It gave him more confidence. Emery stirred, as he prodded him with his foot. He continued until the wiry little man sat up, rubbing his eyes.
“A word out of you,” said Dick softly, “and I’ll blow your brains out. Hand over your gun, butt forward.”
Emery obeyed. Dick thrust the revolver in his own holster, an awkward proceeding because he was compelled to keep his opponent covered.
“Now,” said Dick, “wake up Burnnel and do it quietly. Get busy!”
Emery, who evidently was thoroughly frightened, rolled over and shook his partner. The big fellow half-awoke, perceived who was shaking him, thrust out one huge arm petulantly and pushed the little man back with considerable violence.
“Shoot me or not,” snarled Emery, “yuh kin wake him yourself.”
“Wake him up!” Dick’s voice carried a menace.
This time Emery succeeded. But the big man was noisy and profane, even after his sleep-stained eyes had caught the glint of Dick’s weapon.
“Keep quiet!” ordered Dick, almost beside himself with fear. “Keep quiet! If you don’t I’ll drill you through and through. Give me the contents of that poke!”
The campfire glowed an angry red. In its ghostly light the two prospectors turned out their pockets, defiantly. Dick recovered his own money, watch and the huge roll of bills, belonging to Creel, Toma’s jack-knife, Sandy’s pocket-compass, and two keys on a ring. The articles were so many and varied that he soon perceived that he would not have room for them about his person. So he compelled Emery to tie them up in a bundle, flung over his own coat for the purpose. But where was the treasure? Nonplussed, Dick stared from one to the other.
“Where’s the contents of Dewberry’s poke?” Emery gave Dick a look of unutterable surprise—and almost choked. Burnnel laughed scornfully.
“Ain’t never had it,” said Emery, choking with laughter.
“You lie!” exclaimed Dick hotly. “Creel told me that you took it away from him.”
“No, you’re wrong, pardner. If Creel told yuh that, he was spoofin’ yuh. We ain’t never even seen him.”
“If that’s true,” said Dick, white to the lips, “how did you manage to get Creel’s roll?”
Neither of the outlaws attempted to reply. Emery hung his head guiltily. Burnnel’s face was averted. Further questioning proved futile. Both men persisted that they had taken nothing from Creel except his money. Angrily, Dick drove them ahead of him to where the woman lay, still sleeping, and aroused her. Then, forcing the three to saddle and lead their ponies, they made their way back to Dick and Sandy’s camp.