And if George had driven them out, then where was he now with his ancient, filed-down six-shooter? Wiley drew his gun forward and walked softly towards the house, but as he passed a metal ore-car a pistol was thrust into his face. He started back, and there was George. "Put 'em up!" he snarled, rising swiftly from behind the car, and the hot fury left Wiley's brain.

"I weesh I knew what happened to the men," worried Deschaillon in his filed-down accent. "My quistion ixactly, Frinchy," nodded Hogan emphatically. "Misther Madden says 'Piffle, but Oi say where are they piffled to? Did they go over in a storm, or die of fever, or run crazy with heat?" "They didn't starve," declared Mulcher, "for some of th' fellows are in th' cook's galley now eatin'."