eneath an aggressive nose, above a firm hard mouth and
determined chin. The mintage of the East was stamped upon his features.
He was a man accustomed to sway, if not to lead. His companion was as
plainly as eastern product, but his manner was subordinate though his
face that, alone of the three, seemed to hold a measure of fearful
wonder at the turbulent throng of men, was shrewd enough.

"I'm looking for a man named Plimsoll," said the first of these two, his
voice an indication that he was accustomed to a quick answer. "He wired
me about some claims. Where'll I find him?" He made no question
concerning the crowd, his eyes passed casually over Mormon's damaged
countenance, over the procession that bore Russell, sack-fashion. Here
was a man who, at any hour of the twenty-four, was primed for business
and for profit.

Yet he could not fail but see that his question charged the crowd with
some emotion he could not fathom. The night was spent, it was getting
close to dawn. The issue between Sandy Bourke and Plimsoll, crowded
aside for the moment, was now paramount. Some craned for sight of the
two-gun man, others glanced toward the eastern sky. The stars seemed to
be losing their brilliance, the golden moon turning silver, the high
horizon, jagged with mountain crests, appeared to be gaining form and a
third dimension.

"You'll likely find him at his place," answered a miner. "Up-street on
the left. Name's outside."

They let the car go on in a lane that was pressed out of their ranks.
They fell in behind or alongside of it as it passed slowly up the
street. One or two of the bolder got on the running boards unchecked.
The easterner who was looking for Plimsoll took in the situation as
something beyond his present range, accepting it. Sandy turned to
Mormon.

"You better see Miss Mirandy up to her claim," he said, his voice casual
enough. Mormon started an appeal but it died unvoiced. The spinster knew
nothing of the clash impending between Sandy and the gambler, neither
did her nephew, who, the excitement of the fight over, yawned and went
off with his aunt and Mormon.

"I'll bring you up that chunk of meat, Mormon," whispered Sam. "An' I'll
bring you somethin' stronger, same time."

"Don't bring it all on yore breath," Mormon whispered back. "If I hear
any shootin' I'll come back lopin'."

"There won't be any shootin'," said Sam. "You go soak that eye of yores
in Mirandy Bailey's sage tea. Me 'n' Sandy, we'll