Marks conferred at length with his companions, who were obviously taking their orders from him, and presently the two Greeks rose and stamped off into the darkness along the shore, going toward the point. Marks himself rolled a cigarette and came toward Hardrock. “If you’re going to starve me,” said the latter, “you might at least starve me on a smoke. Look out your friends don’t get lost.” Marks laughed easily. “I’ll get you some coffee and a smoke,” he replied, “if you’ll talk. Will you? Or shall I make you?” “Sure thing,” exclaimed Hardrock. “It’s a bargain. And cut me loose.” “Not much,” retorted the other, and went back to the fire, where he poured out a tin cup of coffee. Hardrock seized the instant. His arms came free. Swiftly he got a hand into his pocket--thus far, they had not searched him except for weapons--and slid out his pocketknife. His arms again in place behind him, he opened a blade of the knife, and waited. One cut at his ankles, and he would be free. Without that cut, he dared take no chances, tempting as the occasion now was. * * * * * For Marks now came back to him, held the lukewarm coffee to his lips as he drank, then gave him the cigarette and held a match to it. Sitting down and wiping sweat from his face, for it was hot near that big fire, the burly ruffian rolled himself another cigarette. He was almost within arm’s reach of Hardrock--yet the latter controlled himself. Until his feet were free he must attempt nothing. “Now let’s have it,” said Marks. “I didn’t want them two lard-eaters to get wise. What was it the Sheriff wanted to give us the third degree about?” “About the shooting you fellows pulled off last time you were here.” Marks nodded, a frown darkening his scarred features. Evidently he had anticipated this information. “Aint it hell how ye can’t make foreigners savvy anything?” he demanded, to the astonishment of Hardrock. “Them two fellers have just one notion o’ fighting--to take a gun and kill somebody! I’ll have to let ’em go. I can’t make ’em savvy that there’s a durned sight more danger in a murder charge than in running liquor.” “You mean they’re working for you?” “Yep. The blamed fools run on them Beaver men the other day, found ’em lifting the trap out yonder, and riddled ’em--then let ’em go. That’s a fool Greek everytime. I wasn’t along, dog-gone it! I was in Escanaba, sick that day, and ye can’t get nothin’ on me. I got to stand by them fellers, o’ course, and get ’em away safe, but I don’t like it a mite. This sort o’ killing is bad business.” Hardrock laughed curtly. “What about the Sheriff?”