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322 bein' more deadly than the male. Now that man knowed lots. I've got a wife and

Meanwhile Sally was getting impatient and called out:

"Ben, are you intending to save up that gold—if there is any—for a Christmas present?"

Could they have heard, they would have been surprised at the gambler's occupation. He was softly whistling a sentimental ballad whose burden was the sorrow of a mother over her wandering son. It was a melodious whistle, like that of some gentle forest bird, and it issued from his bloodless lips with a great deal of feeling and expression.

"When d'ye want us to rush them s," asked Old Man Veldmann, his bleary eyes yearning for excitement, as long as there was prospect of his being a secure spectator. He felt barred out by age from actual conflict, and was content with his rôle of wicked, old Nestor to the party, though his advice consisted of little besides qualifying expletives.

"You ban a wise old bird," jeered the Pink Swede, the cunning twist of his usually expressionless mouth belying the vacuous look of his eyes, which had the chalky blue of watered milk. "The chief he ban no little baby. They do the dirty work. We cop the gold."

MacAllister, making no comment, whistled another stave of the pathetic ballad.

"Gee! but you get my nerve," screamed Carlotta. "You're too damned cool. Has Pink got it right?"

He carefully polished off the last trill to his satisfaction before he vouchsafed a reply.

"Sure, let them sweat for it."