He looked at Farnol Greer,
whose timely shouting and attack had practically quelled the rising. For
a moment Madden's old friendship for Smith and his new gratitude for
this silent unknown youth struggled, then he said:
"Greer, do you know anything about that chest?"
A look of blank surprise, then indignation went over Greer's heavy
serious face, then he said bitingly:
"You sure stand by your pal, all right," and moved out of the cabin
without another word.
Caradoc lay dry and burning on the hot bunk, his big hands pressed to
his forehead, eyes clenched shut.
"I don't know what to do!" cried Madden miserably. "Hogan, Deschaillon,
for God's sake, if you know anything about that medicine chest, tell
me--I'm not accusing anybody!"
"Sure, sure," cried Hogan sympathetically, "Oi'm sorry Oi ain't got it.
If Oi only had me chance again I'd stole it long ago!"
"I'm sorree, but I never stole eet either, Meester Madden."
"If I only had bromide!" growled the American, watching Smith's broad
hairy chest lift and drop in short breaths.
The Englishman opened his hot red eyes. "What's that to you, Madden?" he
asked thickly. The choppy white mustache pulled down in a sneer. "I
might as well die now--I'm nothing but a remittance man. A remittance
man," he repeated the term with mingled self contempt and bravado.
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