d'Or over."

He was not conscious of it then, but remembered afterward, that Presby
was momentarily startled by the announcement. The man's eyes seemed
intent on penetrating and appraising him, as he stood there without a
seat having been proffered, or any courtesy shown. Then, as if
thinking, Presby stared at the inkwell before him, and frowned.

"How am I to know that?" he asked. "The Cross has had enough men
wanting to look it over to make an army. Maybe you're one of them. Got
any letters telling me that I'm to turn it over to you?"

For an instant Dick was staggered by this obstacle.

"No," he said reluctantly, "I have not; that is, nothing directed to
you. I did not know that you were in charge of the property."

He was surprised to notice that Presby's heavy brows adjusted
themselves to a scowl. He wondered why the mine owner should be
antagonistic to him, when there was nothing at stake.

"Well, I am," asserted Presby. "I hired the watchman up there, and I
see to it that all the stuff lying around loose isn't stolen."

"On whose authority, may I ask?" questioned Dick, without thought of
giving offense, but rather as a means of explaining his position.

"Sloan's. Why, you don't think I'm watching it because I want it, do
you, young man? The old watchman threw up his job. I had Sloan's
address, and wrote him about it. Sloan wrote and asked me to get a man
to look after it, and I did. Now, you show me that you've got a right
to go on the grounds of the Cross Mine, and I'll give an order to the
watchman."

There was absolute antagonism in his tone, although not in his words.
Dick thought of nothing at the moment but that he had one sole proof
of his ownership, the letter from Sloan himself. He unbuttoned the
flap of his shirt pocket, and, taking out a bundle of letters,
selected the one bearing on the situation.

"That should be sufficient," he said, throwing it, opened, before
Presby.

The latter, without moving his solid body in the least, and as if his
arms and hands were entirely independent of it, stolidly picked up the
letter and read it. Dick could infer nothing of its reception. He
could not tell whether Presby was inclined to accept it as sufficient
authority, or to question it. Outside were the sounds of the Rattler's
activity and production, the heavy, thunderous roar of the stamp mill,
the clash of cars of ore dumped into the maws of the grizzly to be
hammered into smaller fragments in their