"How can we stop it?" asked Tim Murphy, cutting a wad from a plug of tobacco.
"Stop it? Why, I'd stop it d—n soon," returned Pritchen.
"Anyway, what good would it do?" continued Tim, who was fond of an argument. "The Indians are quiet and honest, mind their own affairs, and enjoy their little service."
"You'll see how honest they are, Tim Murphy. I never saw an honest Injun yet. Only dead Injuns are honest. Then look at their d—n superstition. Such psalm singing would be stopped in some camps as quick as h—l."
To this conversation Jim Perdue, the saloon-keeper, was the most interested listener. He hated Amos and the loyal members of the band, who kept aloof from his store and filthy poison. He determined, therefore, to use Pritchen as an instrument to further his evil designs upon the natives.
"So you think you can stop that bell from ringing, do you?" he asked. "Well, then, I'll bet a drink all around that you can't do it."
"I'll do it for one night," answered Pritchen guardedly.
"Oh, ye might fix the bell so it wouldn't ring fer one night, that'd be no trouble. But ye can't make them leave their service, and come here fer a drink. If ye kin I'll supply the stuff free."
"Free poison," laughed one of the men. "Say, Jim, ye'd better go easy. The ground's too mighty tough, and we don't want to spend a month digging graves."
"Never ye fear, Dick," replied Perdue good naturedly. "You've stood the stuff all right, so I guess the Injuns are safe."