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.