"Dat's good rum, chief," she heard one say. "Where you get it, eh?"
"Where it all comes from, of course," Norman sternly replied. "You must not drink too much of it."
"Oh, it'll take more'n dat to knock me out."
"Don't be too sure of that. The mast-cutters are no babies, and you'll need to be in good condition when you meet them."
"I don't care for no damn mast-cutters. Rum's my best friend when I fight dem."
"Hear, hear!" another shouted. "Good fer you, Jerry! We're with you on that. Rum puts hell into us, an' makes us fight like the devil."
"But the mast-cutters can fight, too," Norman reminded. "They are well armed, remember."
"'Spose they are, what of it? They won't have time to use their guns.
They'll all be asleep when we arrive."
"But what about the rangers?"
"They'll never touch us. We'll have the job done, an' the camp wiped out before they get there. We're no fools."