“Go to blazes!” said Flett.
MacNutt caught him by the throat, crooked a knee, and threw him back down across the log with a shock that almost broke his spine.
“Talk, ye dog, or I’ll kill ye!” he gritted; and Flett, staring up helpless and half stunned into the savage face of the foreman, gave up.
“Regan and me got a bottle apiece from a man in McCane’s camp.”
MacNutt jerked him to his feet and turned him loose. “Get yer time to-night and hike in the morning!” he ordered. “You’re fired! Not because ye got drunk, but for bein’ no use, drunk or sober.”
He sought Regan. Regan was doing a man’s work, and doing it well.
“I’ve fired Flett,” said MacNutt without preliminary. “I’ll have no booze in this camp, Regan.”
Regan, who was made of different stuff than his fellow-transgressor, spat on the dry snow and regarded the foreman with a level stare.
“Do I get my time?” he asked.
“Not unless you want it,” MacNutt replied. “I can do with ye or without ye. Suit yourself. But I’ll have no more of it.”