"I learn you, all right. In couple days you swamp good, or I fix you."
Bill looked up, encountered the watery glare of the blue eyes, and returned his gaze to the points of his moccasins. The voice of the Swede grew more aggressive. He snorted importantly as the men looked on, and smote his palm with a ponderous fist.
"First thing, I duck you in waterhole. Then I slap you to peak an' break off the peak." The men snickered, and Stromberg, emboldened by the silence of his new swamper, continued:
"It's time boys was in bed. To-morrow I make you earn your wages."
Bill rose slowly from his seat, and as he looked again into the face of the big Swede his lips smiled. But Fallon noticed, and others, that in the steely glint of the gray eyes was no hint of smile, and they watched curiously while he removed his mackinaw and tossed it carelessly onto the edge of a near-by bunk from where it slipped unnoticed to the floor.
Stromberg produced a bottle, drank deep, and returned the flask to his pocket. He rasped the fire from his throat with a harsh, grating sound, drew the back of his hand across his mouth, and kicked contemptuously at the mackinaw which lay almost at his feet.
As he did so a long, thick envelope, to which was tightly bound the photograph of a girl, slipped from the inner pocket. Instantly he stooped and seized it.
"Haw, haw!" he roared, "the greener's got a woman. Look, she's a——"
"Drop that!" The voice was low, almost soft in tone, but the words cut quick and clear, with no hint of gentleness.
"Come get it, greener!" The man taunted as he doubled a huge fist, and held the photograph high that the others might see.