There might easily be half a million in bills pressed together in that heavy, flat packet. Bills were absolutely safe plunder. But Kloon had turned a deaf ear to his suggestions, -- Kloon, who never entertained ambitions beyond his hootch rake-off, -- whose miserable imagination stopped at a wretched percentage, satisfied.
One shot! There was the back of Kloon's bushy head. One shot! -- and fear, which had shadowed him from birth, was at an end forever. Ended, too, privation, -- the bitter rigour of black winters; scorching days; bodily squalor; ills that such as he endured in a wilderness where, like other creatures of the wild, men stricken died or recovered by chance alone.
A single shot would settle all problems for him. ... But if he missed? At the mere idea he trembled as he trotted on, trying to tell himself that he couldn't miss. No use; always the coward's "if" blocked him; and the coward's rage, -- fiercest of all fury, -- ravaged him, almost crazing him with his own impotence.
* * * * *
Tamaracks, sphagnum, crimson pitcher-plants grew thicker; wet woods set with little black pools stretched away on every side.
It was still nearly a mile from Drowned Valley when Jake Kloon halted in his tracks and seated himself on a narrow ridge of hard ground. And Leverett came lightly up and, after nosing the whole vicinity, sat down cautiously where Kloon would have to turn partly around to look at him.
"Where the hell do we meet up with Quintana?" growled Kloon, tearing a mouthful from a gnawed tobacco plug and shoving the remainder deep into his trousers pocket.
"We gotta travel a piece, yet. ... Say, Jake, be you a man or be you a poor dumb critter what ain't got no spunk?"
Kloon, chewing on his cud, turned and glanced at him. Then he spat, as answer.
"If you got the spunk of a chipmunk you and me'll take a peek at that there packet. I bet you it's thousand-dollar bills -- more'n a billion million dollars, likely."
Kloon's dogged silence continued. Leverett licked his dry lips. His rifle lay on his knees. Almost imperceptibly he moved it, moved it again, froze stiff as Kloon spat, then, by infinitesimal degrees, continued to edge the muzzle toward Kloon.
"Jake?"
"Aw, shut your head," grumbled Kloon disdainfully. "You allus was a dirty rat -- you sneakin' trap robber. Enough's enough. I ain't no use for no billion million dollar bills. Ten thousand'll buy me all I cal'late to need till I'm planted. But you're like a hawg; you ain't never had enough o' nothin' and you won't never git enough, neither, -- not if you wuz God a'mighty you wouldn't."