ke response. But the latter was holding
hard, waiting for the moment of crisis, hoping yet that it might be
avoided. There was time enough when Virginia was safe and his sight had
returned him to answer such speeches as this.

"You see he hasn't anything to say," Harold gloated. "I asked you a
question, Joe--about Virginia. Didn't I tell the truth?"

The girl flinched, then caught herself with a half-sob. She resolved to
make one more appeal. "Oh Harold--please--please be careful what
you say," she pleaded. "You're drunk now--but don't forget you were a
gentleman--once. Don't drink any more. Don't let these Indians drink
any more, either."

"A gentleman once, eh? So you don't think I'm one any more. But Bill,
there--he's one, ain't he? It seems to me you've been getting kind of
bossy around here, lately--and the women of we northern men don't
behave that way."

"I'm not your woman, thank God--and I ask you to be careful."

"And I repeat that warning." Bill spoke gravely, quietly from his
chair. "You're acting like a rotter, Harold, and you know it. Shut up
the bottle and try to hold yourself--and then remember what you've
been saying. Remember that I'm still here--and if I'm not able to
avenge an insult now, the time is coming when I will. And I've got one
weapon _now_ that I won't hesitate to use. I mean--an answer to a
question of a while ago. If you want to keep her love, be careful."

The Indians turned to him, the murder-madness darkening their faces.
Pete's hand began to steal toward his hip. He had no ancestral
precedent for the use of a miner's pick for such work as faced him now.
And he held high regard for the thin, cruel blade.

"Do you think I care?" Harold answered. "Tell her if you want to--all
about Sindy and everything else. Do you think I'm ashamed of it? I've
heard all I want to from you too--and I'll say and drink what I
please."

Bill had no answer at first. He had thought that this threat might
bring Harold to time; he had supposed that the man valued Virginia's
love as much as he, in a similar position, would have valued it. Harold
turned to the girl. "So you're _not_ my woman, eh?"

"No, no, no! I never will be!" The girl's eyes were blazing, and she
had forgotten her fear in her magnificent wrath. "I suppose--you were
a squaw man. These Indians are your own friends."

Harold smiled cruelly. "Yes, a squaw man. And these are my friends.
Don't you suppose