e that he was lame. Their faces, although
different in modeling, were somehow alike, for both had a curious, quiet
watchful look. They disputed in low voices, but Thirlwell saw their mood
was dangerous. He knew that noisy fury seldom marks a struggle in the
North, where hunting animals and men strike in silence. There was
something strangely like the stealthy alertness of the animals in their
attitudes.

Waiting in the gloom among the pine-trunks, he gathered that the quarrel
was about the sharpening of tools. Drummond had brought some cutters
from the boring machine, and Driscoll wanted his ax ground.

"I came along first," Drummond declared. "Tom's going to fix my cutters;
your ax has got to wait!" He glanced at the smith, sharply, as if
reluctant to move his eyes from Driscoll. "Give the wheel a spin and
let's get busy!"

"He certainly won't," said Driscoll; "I've unshipped the handle. You'll
get your cutters quickest if you quit talking and wait until I'm
through."

"That's not playing it like a white man. Don't know why they hired you
at the mine. Your job's smuggling the Indians liquor."

"Your folks!" sneered Driscoll. "You're not white."

"Stop there!" said Drummond, with stern quietness, and Thirlwell saw him
balance a cutter he held. It was a short but heavy piece of steel,
curved at the point.

Driscoll's eyes glittered. "Your father was a squaw-man; your mother--"

He bent his body with the swift suppleness of an acrobat, and the
cutter, flying past, rang upon the wall of the shack. Then he swung
forward and the end of a pick-handle missed Drummond by an inch.

Another cutter shot from Drummond's hand and struck Driscoll's side. He
stooped, and Thirlwell thought he was falling but saw that he had bent
down to pick up his ax. Next moment the blade flashed in a long sweep
and Drummond sprang behind the anvil, which occupied the middle of the
floor. He had another cutter and held it back, with his arm bent, ready
to launch it at Driscoll's head, but Thirlwell imagined he was pressed
too hard to feel sure of his aim and wanted to get out of his
antagonist's reach. It was plain that the situation was dangerous, but
Thirlwell knew he could not stop the men by shouting, and the fight
would probably be over before he reached the shack. He had, however,
forgotten the smith, who pulled a glowing iron from the fire.

"You can quit now; I butt in here!" he said, holding the iron close to
Driscoll's chest. Th