eady to close on gun butts,
standing as boxers stand or distance-runners set on their marks.

The man who stood in the tent door kicked at his sleeping companion and
roused him to sit on the side of his cot and stare sleepily out,
gradually taking in the situation. There were seven against three but,
when the odds are so big and the minority faces them with a readiness
and an assurance that shows in their eyes, on their lips, vibrates from
their compacted alliance, the measure is one of will, rather than
physical and merely numerical superiority, and the balance beam quivers
undecidedly. The bearded miner, with the rest, looked shiftily toward
the man who had done the speaking, the bald-headed one, whose khaki and
nail-studded boots were belied by the softness and puffiness of his
flesh, the sags and wrinkles beneath his eyes and under his double
chins. He had little gray-green orbs that glittered uneasily.

"I'm giving you men two minutes to clear out of here," he said. "No
two-gunned cow-puncher can throw any bluff round here, if that's what
you're trying to do."

Sandy laughed joyously. The smile was in his eyes now.

"If I figger a man's throwin' a bluff," he said, "I usually figger to
call him, not to chew about it. Me, I pack two guns fo' a reason. Once
in a while I shoot off all the ca'tridges from one an' then I don't have
to reload. Now, _I'm_ talkin'. These claims are duly registered in the
name of Patrick Casey, his heirs an' assigns. Here's the papers. The
assessment work is all done. Pat's daughter owns 'em now. We're
representin' her. An' I'm servin' you notice to quit. We'll take the
same two minutes you was talkin' of. They must be nigh up now, though I
didn't see you lookin' at yo' watch. I'm lookin' at my Ingersoll an' I
give it sixty seconds mo'. Then staht yore li'l' demonstration, gents,
providin' I don't beat you to it." He started to roll a cigarette with
hands skilful and steady. Back of him Sam and Mormon stood like dogs on
point, watchful, unmoving, but instinct with suppressed motion.

"The girl may be his heir," said the bald-headed man, "but Plimsoll is
assignee. Plimsoll staked him an' these claims are half his. The girl
can put in her share to the title later, if they amount to anything. She
ain't of age."

"So J. P. was hirin' you to do his dirty work," said Sandy, his voice
cold with contempt. "You go back to him, the whole lousy pack of you,
an' tell him from me he's a yellow-spin