"But, won't the others know they're being credited with a short cut?"
"That's where you come in. You got to take off so little that they won't notice it. Sawyers only knows about how much they got comin'. They only guess at the cut. A little offen each one comes to quite a bit by spring."
"But, what if these men that get the overage credited to 'em refuse to come across?"
Slue Foot grinned evilly: "I'll give 'em a little bonus fer the use of their names," he said. "But, they hain't a-goin' to refuse to kick in. I've got their number. They hain't a one of the hull six of 'em that I hain't got somethin' on, an' they know it."
"All right," said Connie, as he arose to go. "I'm on. And don't forget that you promised to let me in on something bigger, later on."
"I won't fergit. It looks from here like me an' you had a good thing."
An hour later Connie once more entered the office at Camp One. Steve sat beside Hurley, and Saginaw Ed stood warming himself with his back to the stove.
"Back ag'in," greeted the big boss. "How about it, ye too tired to swing out into the brush with the rifle? Seems like they wouldn't nothin' in the world taste so good as a nice fat pa'tridge. An' you tell the cook if he dries it up when he roasts it, he better have his turkey packed an' handy to grab."
"I'm not tired at all," smiled Connie, as he took Saginaw's rifle from the wall. "It's too bad those fellows swiped your gun, but I guess I can manage to pop off a couple of heads with this."
"You'd better run along with him, Steve," said Hurley, as he noted that the other boy eyed Connie wistfully. "The walk'll do ye good. Ye hain't hardly stretched a leg sense I got hurt. The kid don't mind, do ye, kid?"