Besides, they had smarted all day under Cassidy's bitter tongue, and they felt that they must retaliate upon somebody.
No one said anything for several minutes, and then the big chopper once more approached his victim.
"Now," he said, "since you have to go through with it, you may as well start in.

If you don't, I'll put the blame stuff down your throat." It was, perhaps, no more than justice, for the cook was paid well; but there was one man in the assembly to whom this did not altogether appeal.

The victim was frail and helpless, a watery-eyed, limp bundle of nerves, with, nevertheless, a pitiful suggestion of outward dignity still clinging to him, though his persecutors would have described him aptly as a whisky tank.

The former fact was sufficient for Weston, who did not stop to think out the matter, but rose and strode quietly toward the fir stump.
"I think this thing has gone far enough, boys.

You'll have to let him off," he said.
"No, sir," said the big chopper.