any hand in the game. But thar ain't anythin' mean about us.
Eh, boys?

Soapy. We is allers ready to chip in ekal in the game. Eh, Silky?

Silky. That's me, Soapy.

Pritchard. Ye see, the boys is free and open-handed, Jack. And so the
proposition we wanter make to ye, Jack, is this. It's reg'lar on the
squar. We reckon, takin' Mr. Jackson's word,--and thar ain't no man's
word ez is better nor Jackson's,--that there's nigh on to two millions
in that vault, not to speak of a little speshil deposit o' York's, ez we
learn from that accommodatin' friend, Mr. Jackson. We propose to share
it with ye, on ekil terms--us five--countin' Jackson, a square man. In
course, we takes the risk o' packin' it away to-night comfortable. Ez
your friends, Jack, we allow this yer little arrangement to be a deuced
sight easier for you than playin' Sandy Morton on a riglar salary, with
the chance o' the real Sandy poppin' in upon ye any night.

Oakkurst. It's a lie. Sandy is dead.

Pritchard. In course, in course; that is your little game! But we
kalkilated, Jack, even on that, on yer bein' rambunktious and contrary;
and so we went ter Red Gulch, and found Sandy. Ye know I take a kind o'
interest in Sandy: he's the second husband of my wife, the woman you run
away with, pard. But thar's nothin' mean about me! eh, boys?

Silky. No! he's the forgivingest kind of a man, is Pritchard.

Soapy. That's so, Silky.

Pritchard. And, thinkin' ye might be dubious, we filled Sandy about
full o' rye whiskey, and brought him along; and one of our pards is
preambulatin' the streets with him, ready to bring him on call.

Oakhurst. It's a lie, Pritchard,--a cowardly lie!

Pritchard. Is it? Hush!

Sandy (without, singing),--

Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down!
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down!
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
All alive and just a-snortin'!
Oh, yer's yer Sandy Morton,
Drink him down!

Pritchard. We don't propose to run him in yer, cept we're took, or yer
unaccommodatin' to the boys.

Oakhurst. And if I refuse?

Pritchard. Why, we'll take what we can get; and we'll leave Sandy Morton
with you yer, to sorter alleviate the old man's feelin's over the loss
of his money. There's nothin' mean about us; no! eh, boys? (Going toward
safe.)

Oakhurst. Hear me a moment, Henry Pritchard. (PRITCHARD stops abreast
of OAKHURST.) Four years ago you were assa