“I came along first,” Drummond declared.  “Tom’s going to fix my cutters; your ax has got to wait!” He glanced at the smith, sharply, as if reluctant to move his eyes from Driscoll.  “Give the wheel a spin and let’s get busy!”

“He certainly won’t,” said Driscoll; “I’ve unshipped the handle.  You’ll get your cutters quickest if you quit talking and wait until I’m through.”

“That’s not playing it like a white man.  Don’t know why they hired you at the mine.  Your job’s smuggling the Indians liquor.”

“Your folks!” sneered Driscoll.  “You’re not white.”

“Stop there!” said Drummond, with stern quietness, and Thirlwell saw him balance a cutter he held.  It was a short but heavy piece of steel, curved at the point.

Driscoll’s eyes glittered.  “Your father was a squaw-man; your mother—­”

He bent his body with the swift suppleness of an acrobat, and the cutter, flying past, rang upon the wall of the shack.  Then he swung forward and the end of a pick-handle missed Drummond by an inch.

Another cutter shot from Drummond’s hand and struck Driscoll’s side.  He stooped, and Thirlwell thought he was falling but saw that he had bent down to pick up his ax.  Next moment the blade flashed in a long sweep and Drummond sprang behind the anvil, which occupied the middle of the floor.  He had another cutter and held it back, with his arm bent, ready to launch it at Driscoll’s head, but Thirlwell imagined he was pressed too hard to feel sure of his aim and wanted to get out of his antagonist’s reach.  It was plain that the situation was dangerous, but Thirlwell knew he could not stop the men by shouting, and the fight would probably be over before he reached the shack.  He had, however, forgotten the smith, who pulled a glowing iron from the fire.

“You can quit now; I butt in here!” he said, holding the iron close to Driscoll’s chest.  Then he turned to Drummond.  “Put that cutter down!  I don’t:  want to see you killed in my smithy.”

All were quite still for a moment, and then Driscoll moved, as if he meant to get round the anvil, but the smith held him back.

“Try it again and I’ll surely singe your hide!” he shouted, and swung round as he heard Drummond’s cautious step.  “If you sling that cutter at him, I’ll put you on the fire.  Get out now; I’m coming to see you go!”

Drummond backed to the door, with the red iron a few inches from his face, and when he had gone the smith signed to Driscoll.

“You’re not going yet!  Sit down right there and take a smoke.”

A few moments later Thirlwell joined Drummond, who was waiting near the smithy.  “If you mean to make trouble, I’ll pay you off,” he said.  “You’re hired to work, not to fight.”

“If I quit now, Steve will get after me again,” Drummond grumbled.

“I think not.  In fact, I’ll see about that; but if you provoke the man, you’ll be fired as soon as I know.  It’s worth while to remember that you’re a long way from the settlements.”