"Stop a minute!" The keenly perceptive Philibert had one more question to ask. "Who is to do the 'stirring up,' Captain? You'll not want any of us to put our heads in the lion's mouth, I hope?"
"No," replied Greasy. "We'll choose some respectables with the gift o' gab from among us here in Prospect—pay 'em well—oh, yes, we'll have to pay 'em—an' send 'em over to do the talkin' for us. If they're caught, that's their look-out. But they won't be caught. This thing's a dead secret from first to last. Understand that, boys—every man keeps his mouth shut. Before God, if there's a squealer, he'll get his from me!"
His lieutenants knew he would keep his word. There would therefore be no squealing.
"Well, boss, what do we do first?" asked Sure-thing Kelly.
"Nothin' just now—not a word—not a thing—till I say so. I just wanted to get you all in on this tonight. Now, fill the glasses, Pete, an' I'll give you something to drink to. Here y'are, boys"—the gangster rose to his feet, smiling benevolently. "To the finish o' the yallah-legs; an' success to the Black Elk Republic!"
"The Black Elk Republic!"
They drank. Just as he set down his glass Greasy Jones whipped out his revolvers and blazed a volley into the door. The startled men sprang up. Philbert had the door open in an instant.
"Boys, there was someone listenin' outside!" exclaimed the gangster, his cruel face twitching. "By God, I'll kill the man that runs this joint!"
But in the passage there was nothing.
III