Reivers came forth from the dugout, stooped and shaking, the drunken
squaw-man's morning condition to perfection, but in reality alert and
watchful for the opportunity he was seeking. He had had a bad night, and
he was anxious to have the job over with and get away with his loot to
some place where he could forget.
A surprise awaited him outside. Two tin plates loaded with meat and a
tin cup half full of liquor were placed on the sand before the dugout.
Ten feet away stood Shanty Moir, his six-shooter covering the two men as
they emerged. With the instinct of the wild animal that he was, Moir
knew the value of clamping his hold firmly on his victims in the cold
grey of morning.
"Drink and eat," he said, satisfied with the humility with which the two
went to their food. "Eat fast, or you'll go into tuh pit with tuh belly
empty."
"I thought you hired me for a cook, mister," whined Reivers, as he
raised the tin cup to his lips. "I want to cook."
"Cook, ----!" sneered Moir. "Tuh squaw'll do all tuh cooking done here.
Draft beast with tuh Scotch jackass, that's what 'ee be, old ox. Hurry
up. Wilt have a little of tuh prod?"
Out of the corner of his eye Reivers saw that MacGregor was eying the
cup of liquor wistfully. Moved by an impulse that was strange to him he
took a small drink and held out the cup to his companion. As MacGregor
eagerly reached for it Moir's gun crashed out and the cup flew from
Reivers's hand.
"Tuh motto of this camp is, 'No treating,'" chuckled Moir. "Hooch is
good on tuh trail. We're on tuh job now. You get liquor, old son,
because 'tis medicine to you, and any hooch drinked here, I must
prescribe."
Across the creek, Tammy, at work building a fire under the thawing-pan,
heard his chief's words and growled faintly.
"Yes, and 'ee prescribe terrible small doses, too, Shanty," he muttered.
"A good thing can be over-played. Hast no reason for refusing Joey and
me a nip before starting work this morning."
Moir, moving like a soft-footed lynx, was across the creek and behind
Tammy before the latter realised what was coming. From his position Moir
now dominated the whole camp, and a sickly smile appeared on Tammy's
mouth.
"Aw, Shanty!" he whined. "Didst only mean it for a joke. Can take a joke
from an old chum, can't 'ee, Shanty?"
"Get into tuh pit, Tammy," said Moir quietly, pointing with his gun to
the tunnel where sounds indicated that Joey already was at work.
"Aw, Shanty----"
"Get in!"
Slack-jawed with terror Tammy crawled into the dark tunnel.
"Eh, Joey, ma son!" called Moir down the pit-mouth.
"Aye?" came back the answer.
"Dost 'ee, too, think 'ee should have a drink this morn'?"
"Aye, Shanty," replied the unsuspecting Joey.
"Have a hot one, then!" roared Shanty and kicked a blazing log from
Tammy's fire into the pit.
A mingling of shrieks and protests greeted its arrival.
"Aw, Shanty! Blood of tuh devil, chief! Canst not take a joke?"
"Am taking it now, ma sons," laughed Moir, and kicked more brands down
the tunnel.
Gasping and choking from the smoke that filled the tiny pit, Joey and
Tammy essayed to crawl out. Bang! went Moir's six-shooter and they
hastily retreated. The tunnel was filled with smoke by this time. Down
at the bottom, choking coughs and cries told that the two unfortunate
men were being suffocated. Moir waited until the faintness of the sounds
told how far gone the men were. Then he motioned to Reivers with his
revolver. The smoke was leaving the pit by this time.
"Step down and drag 'em out, old son," he said. "Come now, no hanging
back. Tuh trigger on this gun is filed down so she pulls very light."
Reivers obeyed, climbing into the pit as if trembling with fear, and
toiling furiously as he dragged the unconscious men out, though he could
have walked away with one under each arm.
"Throw water on 'em. Splash 'em good."
Ten minutes later Joey and Tammy were sitting up, coughing and sneezing,
and trying their best to make Moir believe they had only been joking.
"Good enough, ma sons; so was I," chuckled Moir. "Now back to tuh job,
and if ever you doubt who's top man here you'll stay in tuh pit till
you're browned well enough to eat. Dost hear me?"
"Aye, Shanty," said the two men humbly, and hurried back to their tasks.
"And now, jackass and old ox, step over here and get into tuh harness,"
commanded Moir.
He continued to hold the gun in his hand and motioned to the sledge near
the thawing-pan. High side-boards had been placed on the sledge, making
it capable of holding twice its former load, and a looped rope
supplemented the traces to which MacGregor was so ignominiously hitched.
"Take hold of the rope, old son," directed Moir.
He did not approach as MacGregor resignedly led the way to the sledge.
Tammy turned from his thawing-pan to hitch the Scotchman to his traces
and to strap down his hands. Moir stood back, the gun in his hand,
dominating all three.
"Now into tuh pit; Joey's got a load waiting," he commanded. "And one
whine out of you, old ox, and you get the prod. Hi-jah! Giddap!"