?" he fleered.

Surreptitiously Loring had tried the coin with his penknife during
this controversy. The metal was quite soft--the knife left a great
scar, which he flashed at Mitchell.

"Well--if you insist," said Mitchell reluctantly. He counted out ten
one-thousand-dollar bills. "Who'll be the judge?"

"Anybody. Archie. I've got you skinned a mile anyway."

"I am sorry, Mr. Thompson," said Archibald, "but this dollar seems to
be pewter, or something of that general description. Aw, give him back
his money, Mitchell--he's drinking.

"I won't!" said Mitchell stubbornly. "He forced me into it. He
wouldn't have given it back to me if I'd lost."

"Sure I wouldn't," assented Steve. "I'm no boy. _I_ play for keeps,
me. Don't be so fast, _if_ you please. This money ain't won yet. Cut
into that dollar! I was from Missouri before ever I saw Montana."

"Cut it, Loring," said Mitchell. "Show him!"

Loring scratched it with the penknife point. "You see? soft as
cheese--rotten," he said. And then the knife struck something hard.
A chill crept over him. Stupefied, he scraped the base metal back,
revealing a portion of _an irrefutably good dollar._

The dismayed rascals looked up. In Thompson's hand a large,
businesslike gun wavered portentously from one head to the other.

"Go on!" he admonished. His tone was not particularly pleasant. "Peel
her off! Yah! You puling infants! You cheap, trading-stamp crooks!"
He raked off the money. "Be tran-tranquil! You doddering idiots, I'd
shoot your heads off for two bits I Try to rob a countryman, will you?
Why, gentle shepherds all, I've been on to such curves as yours ever
since Hec was a pup! You and your scout Loring and your Bickford
and your Post!" he scoffed. "Don't open your heads. Bah! Here, you
skunks!" He threw an ostentatiously bad dollar on the table. "Take
that, and break even if you can. That patronizing half-baked tailor's
dummy that called me out of my name will be back bimeby, with his
pockets full. I'd like to see him taken down a peg, but I dassent
spoil the sale of my mine. Tell him I'm in bed, full, but'll be out in
an hour or so. He'll come again to buy me out. Hates me like poison,
he does. If you can get him to bite, go it! But I doubt if you'll find
even that saphead as rank as you three wise guys. Anyway, I don't want
to see him while I feel this way. My head aches, and I suppose there's
some sort of law against shooting the likes of him--or you. I'm
leav