"Rum fer Injuns when they come!
Rum fer the beggars when they go!
That's the trick, my grizzled lads,
To catch the cash and snare the foe!"
Racka-tacka-tack-tack . . . tack-tack! RACK-tackety-tack-tack . . . tack-tack!
"This aint goin' to be no cinch, 'bo," came McCorquodale's serious whisper in Kendrick's ear. "This mob's come in durin' the afternoon. We better get back an' pick up a gang o' our own—some o' them guineas from the railroad. Then we can clean this bunch up in proper shape."
"Wait," muttered Kendrick. "What are they doing now?"
One of the men was digging a hole while two others picked up a small log which they presently up-ended in the hole, tramping the earth about it firmly. The individual who acted as master of ceremonies gazed expectantly towards the bunk house where a heavily built man with sandy hair and whiskers had put in an appearance and was waving his hand.
"There's Red and Weiler!"
"Keep quiet!" commanded Phil.
Corduroys had mounted the stump and was addressing the boisterous crowd. Apparently he was looked upon as something of a wag, for he was interrupted frequently by laughter. His voice carried distinctly.
"Gents an' fel—ler citizens," he began, striking an oratorical attitude, "we now comes to the next num—ber on the program, the which is costin' a lot o' cold coin. Fif—ty thous—and dollars, gents, is what it costs to have the Perfessor put on his little stunt. Fif—ty thous—and dollars! We calls it 'The Double-Cross an' the Get-Away.' The Perfessor has double-crossed our friend an' worthy leader, Red McIvor, an' refuses to say where he has buried the hidden treasure. Instead of fifty thousand good bucks, he hands over a wad o' phoney bills. Instead o' fifty thousand genooine plunks we will now perceed to have fifty thousand dollars' worth o' fun—the Perfessor's treat, gents. He will now demonstrate his get-away. He is an insect an' to the insects he goes from here. He has stung us an' it is now his turn to git stung. I have grea—at pleasure in callin' upon the Perfessor."
As he finished speaking there issued from the log shanty a struggling group. Dragging between them in no gentle fashion a kicking, screaming prisoner, came Red McIvor and the German. They kicked him forward into the arms of the waiting men at the post, to which he was bound quickly from feet to waist. The firelight played upon the prisoner's distorted features as he begged them to let him go. His pleadings were greeted with shouts of laughter.