Page:Allan Dunn--Dead Man's Gold.djvu/108



TONE rolled himself up in his blanket but found it hard to sleep. At last he dozed off to wake with a start. Harvey was still on watch. But across the fire, wrapped in their blankets but close together, Healy and Larkin were whispering. The low tone might have been out of thoughtfulness for his slumbers. It was pitched so that he could not distinguish words, only the soft, confidential sibilation. And, like the magic ear of corn that the Indian shamans caused to grow to fruition, the seed of suspicion flourished in the soil of Stone's spirit. Why were Healy and Larkin conspiring at such an hour? It could be no ordinary thing they had to discuss in such a fashion. Lyman had been wise indeed when he had said: "I know what gold does to men." It bred lust, greed, suspicion, hatred, even murder.

The whispering went on, ceased, picked up again, halted, ended. Once more Stone dropped off into uneasy sleep. He woke with the sky olive overhead and one or two faint stars withdrawing, the sound of cicadas whirring, the grateful odour of coffee in his nostrils. He sat up. Harvey was bending over the fire. The other two were snoring. The summit of 94