"And here comes the knife." His sheath-knife followed the revolver.
"Shall I throw out my bed ?" he asked.
He was making a tremendous effort to appear cheerful.

But he could not forget that last night he had shot at Bram, and that it was not at all unreasonable to suppose that Bram might knock his brains out when he stuck his head out of the hole.

The fact that Bram made no answer to his question about the bed did not add to his assurance.

He repeated the question, louder than before, and still there was no answer.

In the face of his perplexity he could not repress a grim chuckle as he rolled up his blankets.