companions. According to Lander's reckoning they were almost up to the cache.
Phinny watched Porker steadily. It was easy to read Phinny's mind by watching his eyes. He was afraid of the big man ahead. Porker, usually so gregarious, now seemed loath to come near them, and when Lander did manage to ride abreast of him and manage to catch his gaze he saw that which made him willing to drop back with Phinny.
Near sundown a man came galloping a mule down the river bank. Lander covered him with his rifle, but Phinny called out:
"Don't shoot! It's old Deschamps!"
The breed came on, his wily eyes instantly detecting constraint in the three men. He glanced askance at Porker, who kept to one side and made no move to join his mates. In an undertone and speaking rapidly Phinny explained what had happened.
"Bad," grunted Deschamps. "Better kill 'um." And he fingered his gun.
"No, no!" hissed Phinny. "He'll be all right if he gets over his scare."
Deschamps, who understood English much better than he could speak it, nodded his head slowly.
