"You shut up!" snapped George as venomous as a rattlesnake. "Your damned
old father was a thief!"

"You're a liar!" yelled Wiley and, swinging his pistol like a club, he
made a rush at the startled gunman. His eyes were flashing with a wild,
reckless fury and as Stiff Neck George dodged and broke to run he leapt
in and placed a fierce kick. "Now you git, you old dastard!" he shouted
hoarsely and as George went down he grabbed him by the trousers and sent
him sprawling down the dump. Sand, rocks and waste went avalanching
after him, and a loose boulder thundered in his wake, until, at the
bottom George scrambled to his feet and stood motionless, looking back.
His head sank lower as he saw Wiley watching him and he slunk down
closer to the ground, then with the swiftness of a panther that has
marked down its prey he turned and skulked away.

"That's bad business, Wiley," protested Blount half-heartedly and Wiley
nodded assent.

"Yes," he said, "he's dangerous now. I should have killed the dastard."

CHAPTER IX

A PEACE TALK

While his blood was pounding and his heart was high, Wiley Holman went
down into his mine. He rode down on the bucket, deftly balanced on the
rim and fending off the wall with one hand, and when he came up he was
smiling. Not smiling with his lips, but far back in his eyes, like a man
who has found something good. Perhaps Blount surprised the look before
it had fled for he beamed upon Wiley benevolently.

"Well, Wiley, my boy," he began confidentially as he drew him off to one
side, "I'm glad to see you're pleased. The gold is there--I find that
everyone thinks so--all we need now is a little co-operation. That's all
we need now--peace. We should lay aside all personal feelings and old
animosities and join hands to make the Paymaster a success."

"That's right, that's right," agreed Wiley cheerfully, "there's nobody
believes in peace more than I do. But all the same," he went on almost
savagely, "you've got to get rid of old George. I'm for peace, you
understand, but if I find him here again--well, I'll have to take over
the property. He's nothing but a professional murderer."

"Yes, I know," explained Blount, "he's a dangerous man--but I don't like
to let an old man starve. He's got a right to live the same as any of
us, and, since he can't work--well, I gave him a job as watchman."

"Well, all right," grumbled Wiley, "if you want to be charitable; but I
suppose you know that,