“This game's at McNeill's, and McNeill's is a tough hole,” warned Orde. “Maybe everything will go peaceful, and maybe not. And you boys that go with me have got to keep sober. There isn't going to be any row unless I say so, and I'm not taking any contract to handle a lot of drunken river-hogs as well as go against a game.”
“All right,” agreed Nolan, “I'm with you.”
The thirty or so men of the rear crew then in camp signified their intention to stay by the procession.
“You can't make those sharps disgorge,” counselled Newmark. “At the first look of trouble they will light out. They have it all fixed. Force won't do you much good—and may get some of you shot.”
“I'm not going to use force,” denied Orde. “I'm just going to play their game. But I bet I can make it go. Only I sort of want the moral support of the boys.”
“I tell you, you CAN'T win!” cried Newmark disgustedly. “It's a brace game pure and simple.”
“I don't know about it's being pure,” replied Orde drolly, “but it's simple enough, if you know how to make the wheels go 'round. How is it, boys—will you back my play?”
And such was their confidence that, in face of Newmark's demonstration, they said they would.