l eyes with a malicious grin on
O'Brien.

"Guess there's more than us boys goin' to see him if there's trouble
busy. Say, I don't guess there's a heap of folk 'ud fancy Fyles
sittin' around their winter stoves in this city."

"Or summer stoves either," chuckled Holy Dick, craning round so that
his gray hair revealed the dirty collar on his soft shirt.

Stormy Longton glanced over quickly, while the kid shuffled the cards.

"Who cares a curse for red-coats?" he snorted fiercely, his keen,
scarred face flushing violently, his steel-gray eyes shining like
silver tinsel. "If Fyles and his boys butt in there'll be a dandy
bunch of lead flying around Rocky Springs. Maybe it won't drop from
the sky neither. There's fools who reckon when it comes to shooting
that fair play's a jewel. Wal, when I'm up against police butters-in,
or any vermin like that, I leave my jewelry right home."

O'Brien chuckled voicelessly.

"Gas," he cried, in his cutting way. "Hot air, an'--gas. I tell you
right here, Fyles and his crowd have got crooks beat to death in this
country. I'll tell you more, it's only because this country's so
mighty wide and big, crooks have got any chance of dodging the
penitentiary at all. I tell you, you folks ain't got an eye open at
all, if you can't see how things are. If I was handing advice, I'd say
to crooks, quit your ways an' run straight awhiles, if you don't fancy
a striped suit. The red-coats are jest runnin' this country through a
sieve, and when they're done they'll grab the odd rock, which are the
crooks, and hide 'em away a few years. You can't beat 'em, and Fyles
is the daddy of the outfit. No, sir, crooks are beat--beat to death."

Then his eyes shot a furtive look in Charlie's direction.

"The sharps ain't in such bad case," he went on. "I'd say it's the
sharps are worrying the p'lice about now. The prohibition law has got
'em plumb on edge. The other things are dead easy to 'em. You see, a
feller shoots up another and they're after him, red hot on his trail.
They'll get him sure--in the end, because he's wanted at any time or
place. It's different running whisky. They got to get the fellow in
the act o' running it. They can't touch him five minutes after he's
cached it safe--not if they know he's run it. If they find his cache
they can spill the liquor, but still they can't touch him. That's
where the sharps ha' got Fyles beat."

He chuckled sardonically.

"Guess I'd sooner be a whisky-runn