him.

It was well on toward evening before Colter paid his promised visit to
Miss Dwight. She found him waiting for her upon her return from a ride
with Captain Kilmeny, Verinder, and Joyce.

Moya, as soon as she had dismounted, walked straight to him.

"What have you found out, Mr. Colter?"

"Not much. It rained during the night and wiped out the tracks of wagon
wheels. Don't know how far Jack got or where he went, but the remains of
the wagon are lying at the bottom of a gulch about two miles from the
Jack Pot."

"How did it get there?"

"I wish you could tell me that. Couldn't have been a runaway or the
mules would have gone over the edge of the road too." He stepped forward
quickly as Verinder was about to pass into the hotel. "I want to have a
talk with you."

The little man adjusted his monocle. "Ye-es. What about, my man?"

"About Jack Kilmeny. Where is he? What do you know? I'm going to find
out if I have to tear it from your throat."

Verinder was no coward, but he was a product of our modern
super-civilization. He glanced around hastily. The captain had followed
Joyce into the lobby. Moya and he were alone on the piazza, with this
big savage who looked quite capable of carrying out his threat.

"Don't talk demned nonsense," the mine owner retorted, flushing angrily.

Colter did not answer in words. The strong muscular fingers of his left
hand closed on the right arm of Verinder just below the shoulder with a
pressure excruciatingly painful. Dobyans found himself moving
automatically toward the end of the porch. He had to clench his teeth
to keep from crying out.

"Let me alone, you brute," he gasped.

Colter paid no attention until his victim was backed against the rail in
a corner. Then he released the millionaire he was manhandling.

"You're going to tell me everything you know. Get that into your head.
Or, by God, I'll wring your neck for you."

The Englishman had never before been confronted with such a situation.
He was a citizen of a country where wealth hedges a man from such
assaults. The color ebbed from his face, then came back with a rush.

"Go to the devil, you big bully," he flung out sharply.

Moya, taken by surprise at Colter's abrupt desertion of her, had watched
with amazement the subsequent flare-up. Now she crossed the porch toward
them.

"What are you doing, Mr. Colter?"

"None of your funeral, ma'am," the miner answered bluntly, not for a
moment lifting his hard ey