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They just tumbled down yesterday when we brought them, but you must remember that we had to cling on with our hands and feet when we went back. We'll have to jettison the horses." "You said it was murder yesterday when I suggested shooting them," Bradby reminded him. "We had a chance of saving them then," Cumshaw argued, "but now it's either them or us.
"It's the end I'm looking at," Bradby said gloomily. "It might be the sort of end neither of us'd fancy." Mr. Cumshaw made no immediate reply. He was peering very intently through the boles of the trees as if he was not quite sure that what he saw was really there. "What are you looking at?" Bradby demanded irritably.
It's a case of sliding them down, but once we get them started they'll go right enough." "We'll give it a try," said Mr. Bradby. His usual good humor was fast re-asserting itself now that they had reached a haven of comparative safety, and he was ready to try any scheme that promised even the smallest chance of success.
Bradby watched him with some misgiving. No man could say with certainty just what secret the dilapidated hut held, and Bradby's state of mind was such that he took the gloomier view of the situation. He would not have been very much surprised to see half a dozen troopers issue from the hut. He would have taken it as the inevitable ending of such an adventure.
While realising all this he was not man enough to rise above and overcome the limitations of his spirit. Cumshaw swung round the corner of the hut and out of sight. Then it was that Bradby began to feel absolutely deserted, and the queer oppressiveness of the place descended on him as one shuts down the lid of a box.
The gold's weighing us down, so what we've got to do is to get rid of it." "You're surely not going to throw it away after all we've gone through," said Bradby, aghast at the proposal. "No, I'm not," Cumshaw told him. "What I suggest is that we hide it somewhere handy, make a note of the spot, and then clear out of this particular section for a time.
On top of it all they had a carelessness of life and a free hand with their easily-earned wealth that found them friends wherever they went. Bradby pulled up suddenly and held up his hand in warning to his companion. Some faint noise had caught his ear, and, excellent bushman that he was, he would not rest content until he had located and defined it.
"I've found the very place we've been looking for." Abel Cumshaw caught at the bushes to save himself from slipping and turned a curious eye on the scene before him. Really there wasn't very much for him to see. Bradby had fallen into a miniature valley so small that it looked like the creation of a child.
So confident were the two adventurers that there was no danger of pursuit that they did not press forward at anything like a reasonable speed. They took things easy. Somewhere about two o'clock in the morning they halted and removed the blanket-pads from their horses' hoofs. Mr. Cumshaw was just going to throw them into the bushes when Mr. Bradby stopped him.
Cumshaw said, pointing to the skeleton. "Better sling him into the bushes," Bradby suggested, all his superstitious fears vanishing now that it was broad daylight. "Poor old sinner," said Cumshaw as he lifted up the remains in his strong arms. "It might just as easily be one of us." "Don't talk like that!" Bradby cried. "It's tempting Providence."
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