"How?—how is that?" cried the old man in a half-startled voice, as he forced himself to walk erect.
"Hush!" was the admonitory reply. "It's this way. They have no right to let you have it, and unless you sign three or four little papers, promising not to give them away, why, of course, they don't take the chance. You do the signing and leave the rest to me. Keep straight while we are inside. We'll get a bottle and go back to the shed."
"I understand, Nick," was the solemn response. "I'll protect the boys."
They entered. McClure, Sykes and Cy Marshall were within.
"Here is Ed. Pullar," said Nick. "He's ready to sign up and in an all-fired hurry. It's a long trip to The Craggs."
"We'll let him go quick," responded Sykes in a businesslike tone. "You sign here, Mr. Pullar."
Exerting all his power of will Edward Pullar wrote his name on a number of papers. The signature was duly certified by Cy Marshall. They loitered a moment, during which Sykes kept up a casual chat. Stepping near, Ford at length whispered:
"We'll get out. I've got it. Steady and slow, old man."
Obediently the old man followed him through the door. As the door shut his fingers closed around the promised flask. Then with a drunken punctiliousness he halted.
"Say, Nick!" was the shocked whisper. "We forgot to settle with the boys!"