"For the worse! What do you mean?"
"I mean that this man Frank Shirley, who says he's yer dead wife's cousin, has made most of the men crazy drunk, for as it's been stormin' and as the krik is up the boys couldn't work to-day. Then Shirley's give out that he knowed you in Detroit, and that you was a very bad man back there."
"If you men knew this Shirley as well as I do," said Mr. Willett, his brown cheeks flushing with indignation, "you would not believe him under oath. But what has this to do with my case? Have they not agreed to wait till my son comes here with the papers to prove I paid Edwards in full for his claim at Gold Cave Gulch?"
"Yes, they agreed to that when they was sober."
"But, surely, Mr. Collins, they do not think differently now," said Mr. Willett.
"I'm afeerd they do. Hark! don't you hear 'em a-hollerin' and yellin' and shootin' off their pistols?"
Mr. Willett and Hank Tims must have heard the noise even had their hearing been less acute, for every minute it came nearer and nearer.
"When men get drunk," said Hank, "they become brutes. But you are here to guard us, an' you are sober an' have yer judgment an' senses about you. Now, Mr. Collins, do you know what I'd advise?"
"What?" asked Collins, who seemed at a loss what to do under the trying circumstances.
"Either protect us till we've had a trial, or else give us back our rifles and pistols and let us protect ourselves. What do you say?"