"He's going right through.

Anyway, it's not your trouble.

Light out before we rope you in too." Weston did not move until three or four more strode forward hastily, when he stooped for an ax that lay handy and swung it round his head.
It came down with a crash on the plate, and the hash was scattered over the withered redwood twigs.

Then, while a growl expressive of astonishment as well as anger went up, the chopper scraped up part of the stew with red soil and fir twigs mixed in it.
"He has got to eat it, and then I'll tend to you.

You'll see that they don't get away, boys," he said.
Weston clearly had no intention of attempting to do so, and the cook would have found it hopeless, for the rest closed round the stump in a contracting ring.