"I know precisely what you are going to say," Thayor began as the deputation shuffled into his den. "In the first place I hear there has been general dissatisfaction over the food at the lower shanty." "You ain't fur from the p'int," blurted out Dollard; "it hain't been fit to feed to a dog." "One moment, Mr. Dollard--you will wait until I get through speaking," Thayor said as he lifted a pile of bills. "These," he went on, "are the complete list of supplies since Bergstein took charge of your commissary department. A glance at the items and their cost will, I feel sure, force you men to acknowledge that they are the best money can buy." He passed half the file to Dollard, the remainder he handed to a big fellow next him for distribution. The totals alone were startling. "We hain't had a dollar's worth of them things, and you know it," Dollard exclaimed surlily, looking up suddenly, as he read. "Of course you haven't," Thayor smiled in return, "and yet you censure me for terminating my business relations with Bergstein--a man you men unanimously chose." There was an awkward pause and a sheepish look on the faces of the men as they craned their corded, bronzed necks over the shoulders of those who held the accounts. "Wall, I swan!" drawled one. "Reg'lar damned skin!" muttered another. "I need not explain to you further," Thayor resumed, "that the statements are pure forgeries. You will readily see that it was Bergstein's method to open a small account at these reputable houses and add the rest." "I tink he been one beeg rascal--_hein_!" grinned Le Boeuf. There were others present who were still unconvinced. "Anything further, Mr. Dollard?" asked Thayor sharply. "About this 'ere grub," returned the spokesman; "it ain't fit, I tell ye, for a dog." "It will be fit enough by to-morrow night," answered Thayor. "I have attended to that by telegraph." There was a slight murmur of approval. "See here, Mr. Thayor," resumed Dollard, gaining courage over the promise of good food. "Maybe the food'll git so's we kin git along, but you hain't been treatin' us no whiter 'n you're a mind to. We ain't gittin' paid no more'n keep us out the poor-house." "I goll, you're right, Shank Dollard," came from somewhere in the back row. "Ah!" exclaimed Thayor, "I was waiting for that. Where, may I ask, have you received as high wages as I have paid you? Not even on a river drive," he went on coolly--"dangerous work like that, I know, commands a just reward." "When we was to work for Morrison," interrupted a round-shouldered lumber jack, "we--" "You need not enlighten me with figures," resumed Thayor; "I have them here," and he turned to a yellow pad. "When, I say, have you been paid as much and as steadily?" "That may be, but we ain't as satisfied over what we git as you be," retorted Shank Dollard.