full purport of this thing upon him, Conniston was driven to a fury of
rage. He jerked Truxton's head back and slapped him across the face
until his fingers tingled. Now Truxton's eyes opened, red-rimmed,
bloodshot, fixed in a vacant, idiotic stare. And before Conniston
could speak the eyes were closed again, the head had sunk forward upon
the table.

"My God!" cried Conniston, feeling now only a great despair upon him,
seeing only the death to all hopes of success for the reclamation
project with Truxton lost to it. He started to leave the tent, and
suddenly swung about again, grasping Truxton's two shoulders in his
hands.

"It ain't no go, pardner. He's very--hic--drunk!"

He had not seen the other man, had seen little enough but the
sprawling, inert figure. It was the camp cook. And as Conniston turned
upon him he saw that this man's face was flushed, that he was little
better than Truxton. And if he needed further indication of the reason
for the cook's plight it was not far to seek. The man held in his left
hand, thrust clumsily behind him, a third bottle, half empty.

"You, too!" shouted Conniston. "Drop that bottle, and drop it quick!"

The cook, with a drunken assumption of dignity, tried to straighten
up, grasping his bottle the more firmly.

"Who're you?" he leered. "G'wan; chase yourself. I ain't throwin'
away--"

He did not finish. Conniston stepped forward quickly and jerked the
bottle out of the cook's hand, hurling it against the stove, where it
broke into a score of pieces. The bottle upon the table he treated in
similar fashion.

"Now," he said, sternly, "you get to work and get something cooked for
the men. Haven't even a fire, have you?" He stepped close to the cook
again, thrusting his face close up to the other's. He did not know his
own voice, which had gone suddenly hoarse and low, as he went on: "You
have a fire going in two minutes. Where are your helpers? And you have
breakfast on the tables in half an hour, or I give you my word I'll
come back here and beat you half to death!"

He turned and went out with no single look behind him, glad to be out
in the open, thankful for the fresh air, which he drew deep down into
his stifling lungs. And, realizing only that nothing could be done
with Truxton for the present and that he himself was next in command,
he hastened to where the four foremen were standing, grinning at him.

"Get your men busy," he snapped at them. "Ben, send some men