“About the shooting you fellows pulled off last time you were here.”
Marks nodded, a frown darkening his scarred features. Evidently he had anticipated this information.
“Aint it hell how ye can’t make foreigners savvy anything?” he demanded, to the astonishment of Hardrock. “Them two fellers have just one notion o’ fighting—to take a gun and kill somebody! I’ll have to let ’em go. I can’t make ’em savvy that there’s a durned sight more danger in a murder charge than in running liquor.”
“You mean they’re working for you?”
“Yep. The blamed fools run on them Beaver men the other day, found ’em lifting the trap out yonder, and riddled ’em—then let ’em go. That’s a fool Greek everytime. I wasn’t along, dog-gone it! I was in Escanaba, sick that day, and ye can’t get nothin’ on me. I got to stand by them fellers, o’ course, and get ’em away safe, but I don’t like it a mite. This sort o’ killing is bad business.”
Hardrock laughed curtly. “What about the Sheriff?”
“Oh, him! He’s a Sheriff, takin’ chances. Same with you—depity, aint ye? Yep. He aint killed, though. He’ll drift over in the channel and’ll get picked up by a barge. We’ll run ye out to Gull Island and leave ye there with some grub. That’s decent all around. A fight is one thing, and killin’ is another thing. I been running booze a year now, and never had a speck o’ trouble before this. Durn them hot-headed Greeks! They’ve spoiled the best little game this side the Soo.”
“You’re sure frank about it,” said Hardrock dryly.”
“Why not? I want you should understand it; I aint anxious to be follered up for a killin’ I didn’t do! Bad enough to have my business busted up. Now I got to land this cargo and then go somewheres else. Dog-gone it! I hope they pass them immygration laws an’ do it quick. A feller can’t make an honest livin’ no more, the way these durned foreigners are everywhere.”
Hardrock broke out laughing. Marks surveyed him darkly.