Short Stories
Don't worry about them jools. They'll keep." And Jim had
thought that at that particular moment Matt had been surely
asleep.
In the late morning Matt was awake with Jim's first move-
ment, and thereafter he awoke and dozed with him until mid-
day, when they got up together and began dressing.
"I'm goin' out to get a paper an' some bread," Matt said.
"You boil the coffee."
As Jim listened, unconsciously his gaze left Matt's face and
roved to the pillow, beneath which was the bundle wrapped
in the bandana handkerchief. On the instant Matt's face be-
came like a wild beast's.
"Look here, Jim," he snarled. "You've got to play square. If
you do me dirt, I'll fix you. Understand? I'd eat you, Jim. You
know that. I'd bite right into your throat an' eat you like that
much beefsteak."
His sunburned skin was black with the surge of blood in it,
and his tobacco-stained teeth were exposed by the snarling
lips. Jim shivered and involuntarily cowered. There was death
in the man he looked at. Only the night before that black-faced
man had killed another with his hands, and it had not hurt his
sleep. And in his own heart Jim was aware of a sneaking guilt,
of a train of thought that merited all that was threatened.
Matt passed out, leaving him still shivering. Then a hatred
twisted his own face, and he softly hurled savage curses at the
door. He remembered the jewels, and hastened to the bed,
feeling under the pillow for the bandana bundle. He crushed it
with his fingers to make certain that it still contained the dia-
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