"Folks, you fool! You can't dig folks up out of a cemetery. If her folks had been alive they'd have hunted up their girl years ago. They were good folks. You needn't worry about that. There's no need now to bother the girl about her folks or the money. She wouldn't know how to handle it if she had it in her own hands. It needs a man to care for her and the cash. We don't want a cheap hyena to fool her and get it. You're the man, Colin. Marry her, and the ten thousand will be put into your fist the day the knot is tied." "It sounds snide and I won't do it," growled MacLeod, seeming to fairly bristle in his obstinacy. "Not if she was Queen of Sheby." "Le' him go, then!" murmured a voice under the bunk. "Here's a gen'lum puffick--ick--ly willin'." The Honorable Pulaski turned to behold the simpering face of drunken Tommy Eye peering wistfully from his retirement. "I'll do it ch-cheaper, so 'elp me!" said Tommy, pounding down the empty bottle to mark emphasis. "Yank that drunken hog out o' there, MacLeod!" roared Britt, after a preface of horrible oaths. And when Tommy stood before him, swaying limply in the boss's clutch, he cuffed him repeatedly, first with one hand, then with the other. The smile on the man's face became a sickly grimace, but he did not whimper. "'Spected kickin'," he murmured. "Jus' soon be cuffed." He held up the empty bottle that he still clung to desperately. "Want to 'splain 'bout one drink--" he began. But Britt wrenched the bottle from his hand, raised it as though to beat out Tommy's brains, and, relenting, smashed it into a corner. "So you've laid there and listened to our private business," he said, malevolently. "You've heard more than is good for you, Eye." "Didn't hear nossin'," protested Tommy. "Was thinkin' up speech. Jus' heard him say he wouldn't marry--marry--" "Marry who?" "'Queen of Sheby,' says he, with all her di'monds. I'll marry her. I'll settle down wiz Queen of Sheby." "He's too drunk to know anything," said MacLeod. "Open the door, Mr. Britt, and I'll toss him out." And he flung the soggy Tommy out on the carpet of pine-needles with as little consideration as though he were a bag of oats. He turned at the door and looked from Britt to Barrett. "You've put a big thing up to me, gents, and you've sprung it on me like a crack with a sled-stake. If I got dizzy and answered you short it was your own fault. Give me a night to sleep on it." Outside he twisted his hand into the collar of Tommy Eye and started towards the main camp, dragging the inebriate. "I'll see that he keeps his mouth shut, gents," he called back to them. "You needn't worry, John," announced Britt, closing the door and pulling out another cigar. "He'll do it." He waited for the sulphur to burn from the match, and lighted his tobacco, a smile of triumph wrinkling under his beard.