“Yes,” came the cowed answer.
“All right!” The outlaw glared about him threateningly before he proceeded: “Now, I’ll tell yuh somethin’: We got jes’ five days to get what we can outta this mine. I’m gonna strip it. These few sacks here ain’t all we’re gonna get.”
“How do yuh figger yer gonna do it?” inquired the man who had previously spoken.
“Work!” boomed Henderson. “We’re gonna work this mine four days an’ four nights like it’s never been worked before. Not countin’ them two boys over there, there’s ten o’ us. Scar-Face’ll bring up a few Indians an’ I’m gonna make them get busy too. I’m plannin’ to run two shifts fer each one o’ the shafts. Any o’ yuh got any objections?” he inquired belligerently.
“Ze more we get, monsieur, ze more we divide,” Baptiste pointed out.
“Sure! That’s what I’m tryin’ to tell yuh. Now, as I said before, the police is comin’. One o’ my Indian runners was here last night with the news. We gotta work fast an’ we gotta work sure. If there’s any way o’ wreckin’ the mine before we go, I’m gonna do it.”
“We ought to be able to stop the police, Bear,” one of the men declared.
“What for? There ain’t no sense to it. If yuh devils is willin’ to work, we can clean up plenty in a few days.”
Greed and avarice was without doubt the only real bond that held the outlaws together. Even the domineering force and brutality of Henderson would have been inadequate to cope for any length of time with so murderous a crew. At thought of the great wealth lying in store for them, the sulky, glowering looks, that were cast in the direction of their leader, faded. The tension slackened. In a very few minutes the room was noisy again—the scene of bustling and excited activity.