He obeyed Joey meekly when ordered, with curses and insults, to load the sledge. He could have throttled Joey down there in the mine without a sound coming up to warn those above of what was happening, but Moir’s conduct of the morning had made an impression upon Reivers. A man who kept himself out of reach, who kept his six-shooter pointed at you all the time, and who could shoot tin cups out of your moving hand, was not a man to be despised. The first hour of work that day convinced Moir and his henchmen that their original unflattering estimate of Reivers was correct. Even a close observer, regarding him during that period of probation, would have seen nothing to indicate that he was anything but what Shanty Moir had judged him to be. A miserable, broken-down squaw-man, without a will of his own, and only one ambition—to clamour for as much liquor as possible—that was the character that Reivers played perfectly for the benefit of Moir and his two men. At first, they kept an eye on him, watching to see if by any chance the old fool might be dangerous. They discovered that he would be dangerous if turned loose—to their supply of liquor. Beyond that he had, apparently, not a single aim in the world. His physical weakness, they soon discovered, was exactly what was to be expected of a whisky bloat. He was able to help haul the sledge-loads of frozen earth up the incline of the shaft, and that was all. Even that left him puffing and trembling. “Is an old ox, as ’ee said, Shanty, with even tuh horns burnt off him by tuh hooch,” said Joey, after the first few loads. “Keep a little o’ tuh liquor running down his throat each day and he’ll be a good draft beast to us. Nothing to fear o’ him. Didst well when ’ee picked him out, chief.” They stopped watching him. He was harmless. Which was exactly the frame of mind which Reivers had worked to create. MacGregor alone knew how cleverly Reivers was playing his part, and he regarded his new companion in misery with greater awe and swore beneath his breath in unholy admiration. He had excellent opportunity to appreciate Reivers’s ability to play the part of a weakling, for the Snow-Burner, when not observed, caught his free hand in MacGregor’s traces and pulled the full weight of the heavy sledge as if it had been a boy’s plaything. “Eh, mon!” gasped the weakened Scotchman in relief. “I begin to comprehend now. ’Tis a surprise you’re planning for Shanty Moir. Oh, aye! ’Tis a braw joke. But you maun l’ave me finish him, man; ’tis my right. And I thank you and will repay you well for the favour you are doing me in my present bunged-up condition.” “Favour your eye!” snapped Reivers. “It’s easier to pull the whole thing than to have you dragging on it. Don’t think I’m doing it for your sake. You’ll have a rude awakening, my friend, if you’re building any hopes on me.”