"This
fellow is intoxicated."
"Is he?" asked the gang-master.
"Yes, he is," Tom declared, bluntly. "Now, where did the man get the
liquor."
"I do not know," replied the gang-master, shrugging his shoulders.
"Then it's your business to know---if he got his liquor in camp. We won't
allow any of that stuff in camp, and you gang-masters all know that."
"I can't stop a man from going to town to get liquor," argued the
gang-master.
"No; you can't," Tom admitted. "Neither can I. But it's your duty,
gang-master, to see that no liquor is brought back into camp. This man
hasn't been to town for the stuff either. He hasn't had time enough to go
away over to Blixton and get enough liquor to make him drunk. Moreover,
in his present condition, the fellow couldn't have walked back from town
the same evening. This man got his liquor in camp, and it will have to be
stopped. Now, put this man in his shack; see that he gets into bed. Then
come back to me."
The gang-master obeyed.
"We'll see if we can't put a complete stop to this sort of thing," Reade
muttered.
"Now, do you think it's going to be well to interfere so much with the
movements of the men?" asked President Bascomb, in an undertone.
Pages:
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98