couldn't find a more charming sister confessor for your sins," the
captain told his cousin.

"I'll do my best," Joyce promised. Then, with a flash of friendly
malice: "But I haven't had the experience of Moya. She is just perfect
in the role. I know, because she hears all mine."

Moya flushed resentfully. She did not intend to set up for a prude, but
she certainly did not mean to treat highgrading as if it were a joke. If
Jack Kilmeny was innocent, why did he not indignantly deny the charge?

"Afraid I'll have to be excused," she said, a little stiffly.

"Miss Dwight doesn't approve of me," explained the miner. "If I
confessed to her she would probably turn me over to the sheriff."

The girl's quick eyes flashed into his. "I don't approve of taking ore
that doesn't belong to one--if that's what you mean, Mr. Kilmeny."

Jack liked the flare of temper in her. She was very human in her
impulses. At bottom, too, he respected the integrity of mind that
refused to compromise with what she thought was wrong.

But no admission of this showed in his strong brown face. His mordant
eyes mocked her while he went into a whimsical argument to show that
highgrading was really a virtue, since it tended to keep the rich from
growing richer and the poor poorer. He wanted to know by what moral
right Verinder owned the Mollie Gibson and the Never Quit any more than
he did.

The mine owner, puffing from the exertions of the last bit of ascent,
exclaimed indignantly: "Own 'em, by Jove! Doesn't a Johnny own what he
buys and pays for?"

"You don't suppose that when God or Nature or the First Cause created
that ore vein a million years ago he had Dobyans Verinder in mind as the
owner," derided Kilmeny.

"That's all anarchistic rot, you know. Those mines are my property, at
least a commanding interest. They're mine because I bought the shares.
Government is founded on a respect for property rights."

"So I've observed," retorted Jack dryly. "I'd back that opinion, too, if
I owned half of Goldbanks."

"I suppose Mr. Kilmeny's highgrading friends are superior to law. It
isn't necessary for them to abide by the rules society has found best
for its protection," Moya suggested.

The engaging smile of the accused rested upon Miss Dwight. "I met you
and your friends in a motor car yesterday. I'll bet that speedometer
said twenty-five miles, but the town ordinance puts the speed limit at
fifteen. What about that?"

"You know that's dif