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Far into the morning hours, in the outfit's camp on the edge of town, Jo and Hiram strove to revive the stupefied men, but nothing beyond groans could they get from them. "They're doped, Hiram pitilessly doped!" Jo cried in despair at last. "Go for Doctor Dennison. Carry him on your shoulders if he won't come."
After a time, far up the mountain was heard a single shot. Inside of two hours the express drew sorrowfully into camp. The driver appeared to be alone. In the bottom of the wagon were the three guards weak and sick. The gold sacks were very much absent. "Done it again," said the driver. "Ain't more than got started afore the whole outfit's down with the belly-ache. Too much of that cursed salmon.
"If th' Priest Captain's outfit's on top," Young said, grimly, "I guess we've about got t' th' end of a division; an' there's not much chance of our changin' engines an' keepin' on with th' run." To which figurative suggestion Rayburn gave an immediate grunt of assent.
The outfit's to consist of thirty hundred head of Texas steers, a chuck wagon and cook, with thirty riders includin' the boss himself an' six horses to the man."
Generally speaking the whole outfit's bigger than it really ought to be, but maybe it'll shrink up some when it's washed," he finished in a casual matter-of-fact way. "It it is wonderful!" Carolyn June stammered, "it is I don't think I ever saw one that was was whiter "
Just then Anson swore a thundering oath. "Crazy or not, I'll git gold out of thet kid!" he roared. "But, man, talk sense. Are you gittin' daffy, too? I declare this outfit's been eatin' loco. You can't git gold fer her!" said Wilson, deliberately. "Why can't I?" "'Cause we're tracked. We can't make no dickers. Why, in another day or so we'll be dodgin' lead." "Tracked! Whar 'd you git thet idee?
Guess Lorson'll halve his smile. He's been coming along fourteen year, ain't it?" Dupont nodded, his contemplative gaze following the procession of sleds under the skilful driving of their attendants. "Yep." Dupont was a lesser trader who lived in a state of furious discontent at the monopoly of the greater store. "The Brand outfit's been trading here fourteen years and more." "How's that?"
"We saw your fire and thought we'd make for it," he explained. "I see your cooking outfit's still lying round." "It's at your service," Blake responded. "I'm sorry we can't offer you much supper, though there's a bit of a bannock and some flour." "We'll soon fix that," the man declared. "Guess you're up against it, but our grub's holding out." He turned to the driver.
I just hunt pelts because it suits me, and I like to hear Lorson Harris squeal when I make him pay my prices. Still, you don't reckon to accept, that way. That being so, how's this? I'm just free as air to hunt where I choose. My outfit's scattered, and each hunts on his own. Well, I've all the catch I need.
Moreover, we plays the same system ag'in, layout an' deal box bein' sim'lar. The fact is, if ever a outfit's hand gets crowded, it's ours. "The demands for these yere falsehoods has its first seeds one evenin' when a drunken party comes staggerin' into camp from Red Dog. It's strange; but it looks like Wolfville has a fasc'nation for them Red Dog sots; which they're allers comin' over.
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