He turned and went out with no single look behind him, glad to be out in the open, thankful for the fresh air, which he drew deep down into his stifling lungs. And, realizing only that nothing could be done with Truxton for the present and that he himself was next in command, he hastened to where the four foremen were standing, grinning at him.
"Get your men busy," he snapped at them. "Ben, send some men up to the tent to help get something to eat. Let them put on anything. If the cook doesn't get coffee ready in fifteen minutes let me know. All of you have your men hook up their teams. They can do that while breakfast is getting ready. And hurry!"
The men looked at him curiously, then at one another. Ben was the first to move.
"Aye, aye, sir," he said, with a grin, lifting his hand from his hip to his forelock, and dropping it to his hip again as he walked away. The others followed.
"Hold on!" cried Conniston, suddenly, before they had gone ten paces. "Do all of the men know about this?"
The men laughed. "They ain't blind," explained one of them.
"And do they know—does any one of you know—where he got the whisky?"
They shrugged their shoulders. Only the Lark answered.
"I know, pal," he said, slowly. "I seen it."
"All right. You wait a minute. I want to talk with you. You other fellows get busy."