Jim poured some brandy out for himself, at the same time, as though unconsciously, replenishing the other's gla.s.s liberally. The sawyer watched him while he waited for a reply, and suddenly a thought occurred to his none too ready brain.

"Drink, eh?" he laughed mockingly, as though answering a challenge on the subject. "Drink? Say, who's been doing the drink since you got back? Folks says as your gal has gone right back on you, that ther'

wench as you was a-sparkin' 'fore we lit out. An' it's clear along of liquor. They say you're soused most ev'ry night, an' most days too. You should git ga.s.sin'--I don't think."

The man's mean face was alight with brutish glee. He felt he had handed the other a pretty retort. And in his satisfaction he s.n.a.t.c.hed up his gla.s.s and drank off its contents at a gulp. Indifferent to the gibe, Jim smiled his satisfaction as he watched the other drain his gla.s.s.

"You've got no work?" he demanded, as Mansell set it down empty.

"Sure I ain't," the other grinned. "An'," he added, under the warming influence of the spirit, "I ain't worritin' a heap neither. My credit's good with the boardin'-house boss. Y' see," he went on, his pride of craft in his gimlet eyes, "I'm kind o' known here for a boss sawyer.

When they want sawyers there's allus work for d.i.c.k Mansell."

"Your credit's good?" Truscott went on, ignoring the man's boasting.

"Then you have no money?"

"I allows the market's kind o' low."

Mansell's mood had become one of clumsy jocularity under the influence of the brandy.

"If you can get work so easily, why don't you?" Truscott demanded, filling the two gla.s.ses again as he spoke.

Mansell seated himself on the bed unbidden.

"Wal," he began expansively, "I'm kind o' holiday-makin', as they say.

Y' see," he went on with a leer, "I worked so a'mighty hard gittin'

back from the Yukon, I'm kind o' fatigued. Savee? Guess I'll git to work later. Say, one o' them for me?" he finished up, pointing at the gla.s.ses.

Truscott nodded, and Mansell helped himself greedily.

The former fell in with the other's mood. He found him very easy to deal with. It was just a question of sufficient drink.

"Well, I don't believe in work, anyway. That is unless it happens to be my pleasure, too. I worked hard up at Dawson, but it was my pleasure. I made good money, too--a h.e.l.l of a sight more than you or anybody else ever had any idea of."

"You ran a dandy game," agreed the sawyer.

"With plenty of customers with mighty fat rolls of money."

Mansell nodded.

"I was a fool to quit you," he said regretfully.

"You were. But it isn't too late. If you aren't yearning to work too hard."

Truscott's smile was crafty. And, even with the drink in him, Mansell saw and understood it.

"Monkey tricks?" he said.

"Monkey tricks--if you like."

Mansell looked over at the bottle.

"Hand us another horn of that pizen an' I'll listen," he said.

The other poured out the brandy readily, taking care to be more than liberal. He watched the sawyer drink, and then, drawing a chair forward, he sat down.

"What's that old mill of mine worth?" he asked suddenly.

They exchanged glances silently. Truscott was watching the effect of his question, and the other was trying to fathom the meaning of it.

"I'd say," Mansell replied slowly, giving up the puzzle and waiting for enlightenment--"I'd say, to a man who needs it bad, it's worth anything over fifteen thousand dollars. Fer sc.r.a.ppin', I'd say it warn't worth but fi' thousand."

"I was thinking of a man needing it."

"Fifteen thousand an' over."

Truscott leant forward in his chair and became confidential.

"Dave wants to buy that mill, and I'm going to sell it to him," he said impressively. "I'll take twenty thousand for it, and get as much more as I can. See? Now I don't want that money. I wouldn't care to handle his money. I've got plenty, and the means of making heaps more if I need it."

He paused to let his words sink in. Mansell nodded with his eyes on the brandy bottle. As yet he did not see the man's drift. He did not see where he came in. He waited, and Truscott went on.

"Now what would you be willing to do for that twenty thousand--or more?" he asked smilingly.

The other turned his head with a start, and, for one fleeting second, his beady eyes searched his companion's face. He saw nothing there but quiet good-nature. It was the face of the old Jim Truscott--used to hide the poisoned mind behind it.

"Give me a drink," Mansell demanded roughly. "This needs some thinkin'."

Truscott handed him the bottle, and watched him while he drank nearly half a tumbler of the raw spirit.

"Well?"

Mansell breathed heavily.

"Seems to me I'd do--a heap," he said at last.

"Would you take a job as sawyer in Dave's mill, and--and act under my orders?"

"It kind o' depends on the orders." For some reason the lumberman became cautious. The price was high--almost too high for him.

Truscott suddenly rose from his seat, and crossing the room, turned the key in the door. Then he closed the window carefully. He finally glanced round the room, and came back to his seat. Then, leaning forward and lowering his tone, he detailed carefully all that the lumberman would have to do to earn the money. It took some time in the telling, but at last he sat back with a callous laugh.

"That's all it is, d.i.c.k, my boy," he cried familiarly. "You will be as safe as houses. Not only that, but I may not need your help at all. I have other plans which are even better, and which may do the job without your help. See? This is only in case it is necessary. You see I don't want to leave anything to chance. I want to be ready. And I want no after consequences. You understand? You may get the money for doing nothing. On the other hand, what you have to do entails little enough risk. The price is high, simply because I do not want the money, and I want to be sure I can rely on you."

The man's plausibility impressed the none too bright-witted lumberman.

Then, too, the brandy had done its work. His last scruple fled, banished by his innate crookedness, set afire by the spirit and the dazzling bait held out to him. It was a case of the clever rascal dominating the less dangerous, but more brutal, type of man. Mansell was as potter's clay in this man's hands. The clay dry would have been impossible to mould, but moistened, the artist in villainy had no difficulty in handling it. And the lubricating process had been liberally supplied.

"I'm on," Mansell said, his small eyes twinkling viciously. "I'm on sure. Twenty thousand! Gee! But I'll need it all, Jim," he added greedily. "I'll need it all, and any more you git. You said it yourself, I was to git the lot. Yes," as though rea.s.suring himself, "I'm on."

Truscott nodded approvingly.