caught in
the storm and struck for the nearest shelter. A bad night out,
Trefoyle." He closed the door, moved forward into the room, and threw
off his heavy overcoat.

Moya had recognized him from the first instant. Now Joyce too saw who he
was. She twisted lithely from the bed, slipped past Moya, past the
miners, and with the sob of a frightened child caught at his hand and
arm.

"Oh, Mr. Kilmeny, save us ... save us!"

Jack nodded reassuringly. "It's all right. Don't worry."

She clung to him, shivering back to self-control. This man's presence
spelled safety. In the high-laced boots of a mining man, he showed a
figure well-knit and graceful, springy with youth, but carrying the
poise of power. His clean-cut bronzed face backed the promise; so too
did the ease of his bearing.

Moya gave a deep sigh of relief and sat down on the edge of the bed,
grown suddenly faint. At last her burden was lifted to stronger
shoulders.

"You ain't wanted here, Jack Kilmeny," the standing miner said sourly.
He was undecided what to do, perplexed and angry at this unexpected
hindrance.

"Seems to be a difference of opinion about that, Peale," retorted the
newcomer lightly, kicking snow from the spurs and the heels of his
boots.

"Trefoyle and me own this cabin. You'll sing small, by Goad, or you'll
get out."

"You wouldn't put a dog out on a night like this, let alone a man. It
would be murder," Kilmeny answered mildly.

"There's horses in the tunnel. You can bed wi' them."

Jack glanced around, took in the whisky bottle and their red-rimmed
eyes. He nodded agreement.

"Right you are, boys. We three will move over to the tunnel and leave
the house to the women."

"You ain't got the say here, not by a domned sight, Jack Kilmeny.
This'll be the way of it. You'll git out. We'll stay. Understand?" Peale
ground out between set teeth.

Jack smiled, but his eyes were like steel. "Suppose we go over to the
shaft-house and talk it over, boys. We'll all understand it better
then."

Kilmeny still stood close to the red-hot stove. He was opening and
closing his fingers to take the stiffness of the frost out of them.

"By Goad, no! You go--we stay. See?"

The young man was now rubbing industriously the thumb and forefinger of
his right hand with the palm of his left.

"No, I don't see that, Peale. Doesn't sound reasonable to me. But I'll
talk it over with you both--in the shaft-house."

Jack's eyes were fastened steadily o