The Lizard's half-raised hand dropped as Tric-Trac, with a movement
like lightning, turned a revolver full on him, talking all the while
in his drawling whine.

"C'est ca! Now you are reasonable. Get out of this forest, my
friend--or stay and join us. Eh! That astonishes you? Why? Idiot, we
want men like you. We want men who have nothing to lose and--millions
to gain! Ah, you are amazed! Yes, millions--I say it. I, Tric-Trac of
the Glaciere, who have done my time in Noumea, too! Yes, millions."

The young ruffian laughed and slowly passed his tongue over his thin
lips. The Lizard slowly returned his knife to its sheath, looked all
around, then deliberately sat down on the moss cross-legged. I could
have hugged him.

"A million? Where?" he asked, vacantly.

"Parbleu! Naturally you ask where," chuckled Tric-Trac. "Tiens! A
supposition that it's in this box!"

"The box is too small," said the Lizard, patiently.

Tric-Trac roared. "Listen to him! Listen to the child!" he cried,
delighted. "Too small to hold gold enough for you? Very well--but is
_a ship big enough_?"

"A big ship is."

Tric-Trac wriggled in convulsions of laughter.

"Oh, listen! He wants a big ship! Well--say a ship as big as that
ugly, black iron-clad sticking up out of the sea yonder, like a
Usine-de-gaz!"

"I think that ship would be big enough," said the poacher,
seriously.

Tric-Trac did not laugh; his little eyes narrowed, and he looked
steadily at the poacher.

"Do you mean what I mean?" he asked, deliberately.

"Well," said the Lizard, "what do you mean?"

"I mean that France is busy stitching on a new flag."

"Black?"

"Red--_first_."

"Oh-h!" mused the poacher. "When does France hoist that new red
flag?"

"When Paris falls."

The poacher rested his chin on his doubled fist and leaned forward
across his gathered knees. "I see," he drawled.

"Under the commune there can be no more poverty," said Tric-Trac;
"you comprehend that."

"Exactly."

"And no more aristocrats."

"Exactly."

"Well," said Tric-Trac, his head on one side, "how does that
programme strike you?"

"It is impossible, your programme," said the poacher, rising to his
feet impatiently.

"You think so? Wait a few days! Wait, my friend," cried Tric-Trac,
eagerly; "and say!--come back here next Monday! There will be a few
of us here--a few friends. And keep your mouth shut tight. Here! Wait.
Look here, friend, don't let a little pleasantry stand bet