for
his self-control. Drummond snatched the bills from the other's hand and
laughed, a savage, scornful laugh.

"You thieving hog; you blasted _fool_!" he cried.

"What d'you mean?" Stormont shouted, springing to his feet.

"Did you think you could play me for a sucker _twice_?" Drummond
rejoined. "Three hundred dollars, for my claim on the lode? That's what
it comes to, and I reckon that's all I'd get!" He flung out his hand,
scattering the crumpled bills. "There's your dirty money. I've got you
corralled!"

Stormont was quiet; dangerously quiet Thirlwell thought, because it was
obvious that Drummond had led him on until he learned his plans. He
stooped and began to pick up the bills, moving about, for the bits of
paper were scattered and indistinct. One had fallen by a heavy stone,
and Thirlwell felt his nerves tingle as Stormont got nearer. Drummond
did not seem to be suspicious; his pose was careless, and Thirlwell
imagined the lad was enjoying his triumph. Both thought they were alone
and they stood on a ledge that ran out into deep water.

Then Stormont clutched the stone and Thirlwell sprang to his feet. The
fellow's caution had given way; mocked and cheated by the lad he meant
to use, he had suddenly become primitive in his disappointed greed and
rage. It looked as if Drummond did not know his danger; but as Thirlwell
ran forward Stormont lifted the stone and the lad leaped upon him like a
wild cat.

Thirlwell stopped. For the moment he did not see how he could interfere
without doing harm, and thought Drummond did not need his help. The men
were locked in a savage grapple at the edge of the ledge and the ripples
splashed upon the rocks four or five feet below. Stormont had been
deceived to the end. It is hard for a white man to match the instinctive
cunning that goes with a strain of Indian blood, and Drummond had
suspected that the other meant to pick up the stone.

Neither saw Thirlwell. They swayed and panted, striking when they got an
arm loose, and then pressing body against body while each strained for a
grip to lift his antagonist from his feet. Stormont, indeed, made a
better fight than Thirlwell had expected, but after a time his knees
bent, his head went back, and Drummond threw him heavily. When he struck
the ground he felt for his pocket, but Drummond fell upon him with a cry
that was like a wild beast's howl.

Thirlwell saw it was time to interfere. An Indian never forgets an
injury, and