Chapter 10

the sounds of industry from above that he did not hear them approach until their feet struck the first planks leading to the heavy log structure. He turned his head slowly toward them, and they recognized him as Bully Presby. It was the first time either of them had seen him since the evening in the camp.

"So you're running, eh?" he asked Dick without any preliminary courtesy.

"Yes, we started the mill to-day."

"On ore, or waste?" There was a sneer in his question which caused Dick to stiffen a trifle; and Bill frowned, as if the question carried an insult.

Still the younger man was inclined to avoid words.

"Naturally, we shouldn't put waste through the mill," he said coldly. "We have opened up an old vein which the other managers did not seem to think worth while."

"And so, I suppose, showing superior knowledge, you will demonstrate that the men before you were a set of dubs? Humph! From babes and fools come wisdom!"

His voice was hard and cynical, and his grim lips curled with a slightly contemptuous twitch. The hot, impulsive streak in Dick leaped upward. His eyes were angry when he answered.

"If you apply the latter to me," he retorted hotly, "you are going pretty far. I don't know what business it is of yours. We have never asked you for any advice, and we don't want any. I expect no favors from any one, and if I did, am certain, in view of your attitude, that I shouldn't ask them from you."

"Steady! Steady, boy!" admonished his partner's drawling voice at his side. Dick did not utter other words that were surging to his tongue, and finished with an angry shrug of his shoulders.

Bill turned coolly to the owner of the Rattler, and appeared to probe him with his eyes; and his stare was returned with one as searching as his own.

"Who are you?" Presby asked, as if the big miner were some man he had not noticed before.

"Me? My name's Mathews. I'm superintendent of the Croix d'Or," Bill answered, as calmly as if the form of question had been ignored.

"And I suppose the young Mister Townsend relies on you for advice, and that he----"

"He don't need to rely on any one for advice," interrupted the soft, repressed voice. "I rely on him. He knows more than I do. And say," he added, taking a step toward Bully Presby, and suddenly appearing to concentrate himself with all his muscles flexed as if for action, "I've mined for thirty-five years. And I've met some miners. And I've never met one who had as little decency for the men on the next claim, or such bullying ways as you've got."

Presby's face did not change in the least, nor did he shift his eyes. There was an instant's pause, and he showed no inclination to speak.

"'Most every one around these diggings seems to be kind of buffaloed by you," Bill added; "but I sort of reckon we ain't like them. I'm handin' it to you right straight, so you and me won't have any trouble after this, because if we do--well, we'd have to find out which was the better man."

Bully Presby's eyes flashed a singular look. It seemed as if they carried something of approval, and at the same time a longing to test the question of physical superiority. And then, abruptly, he laughed. Astonished by this strange, complex character, Bill relaxed, and turned toward his partner. Dick, seeing that the interview was ended, as far as the necessity for saying anything was concerned, moved across the bridge, and Bill took a last hard stare at the mine owner. The latter laughed again, with his cold, cynical rumble.

"I think," he said, "that when the Cross shuts down for good, I'd like to give you a job. When it does, come and see me."

Without another look, word, or sign of interest, he turned his back on them, and marched up the hill toward the Rattler.