Healy turned his head with an effort. He looked like an old man.
"What's the use?" he said. "To hell with the gold! Let's go back." He started ahead, as if to go to Harvey and Larkin with his suggestion.
"You stay where you are," said Stone, "or I'll blow your cowardly head off." Healy turned with a snarl. "You will, will you?" he said. "You forget I hold the joker in this deal. With me out of it where are you?"
"If you show your yellow lining at this stage of the game," said Stone, "they'll jump us. Go ahead, if you want to. I won't shoot you. I'll let the Indians handle you. They'll get us anyway if we weaken but I fancy the rest of us will have an easier out than you. They won't get me alive. But you'll run, or try to, you white-livered cur. And they'll have a lot of fun with you after they catch you. Shake yourself together, man, and bluff. You've done it at cards, you say, now do it for your life."
With his face ghastly, Healy glared at him but managed to pull himself together. They marched on, pad over the sand and turf, scrunch through the gravel, the savage cavalry ever parallel. Then Harvey dropped back.
"They ain't painted up for war," he said; "trying to throw a scare into us. Reg'lar tactics." He shot a keen glance at Healy. "Stone Men Cañon's only a little way ahead. We'll turn in there—if we git that fur, an' I reckon we will. The opening's just round the bend."
