Lacy, a long, rangy fellow, with a heavy moustache, and a scar over one eye, partially concealed by his hat brim, grinned at the others as though at a good joke.

“No, nuthin’ particular as yet,” he answered; “but you hev’, an’ I reckon thet’s just about as good.  Tryin’ ter keep it dark, wasn’t yer?  Never even thought we’d caught on.”

“Oh, yes, I did; you flatter yourselves.  I caught one of your stool-pigeons up the gulch yesterday, and more than ten days ago Moore and Edson made a trip into my tunnel while I happened to be away; they forgot to hide their trail.  I knew what you were up to, and you can all of you look for a fight.”

“When your partner gets out here, I suppose,” sneered Lacy.

“He’ll be here.”

“Oh, will he?  Well, he’s a hell of a while coming.  You wired him a month ago, and yer’ve written him twice since.  Oh, I’ve got the cases on you, all right, Westcott.  I know you haven’t got a cent left to go on with, and nowhere to get eny except through him.”  He laughed.  “Ain’t that right?  Well, then, yer chances look mighty slim ter me just at present, ol’-timer.  However, there’s no fight on yet; will yer behave yerself, an’ let this man Beaton alone if I hand yer back yer gun?”

“There is no choice left me.”

“Sure; that’s sensible enough; give it to him, Moore.”

He broke the chamber, shaking the cartridges out into his palm; then handed the emptied weapon over to Westcott.  His manner was purposely insulting, but the latter stood with lips firmly set, realising his position.

“Now, then, go on over thar an’ sit down,” continued Lacy.  “Maybe, if yer wait long enough, that partner o’ yours might blow in.  I got some curiosity myself as to why that girl showed up ter-night under yer guidance, an’ why yer so keen ter fight about her, Jim; but I reckon we’ll clear that up ter-morrow without makin’ yer talk.”

“You mean to question Miss Donovan?”

“Hell, no; just keep an eye on her.  ’Tain’t likely she’s in Haskell just fer the climate.  Come on, boys, let’s liquor.  Big Jim Westcott has his claws cut, and it’s Beaton’s turn to spend a little.”

Westcott sat quietly in the chair as they filed out; then took the pipe from his pocket and filled it slowly.  He realised his defeat, his helplessness, but his mind was already busy with the future.

Timmons came out from behind the desk a bit solicitous.

“Hurt eny?” he asked.  “Didn’t wing yer, or nuthin’?”

“No; the stove got the bullet.  He shot through his pocket.”

“Whut’s all the row about?”

“Oh, not much, Timmons; this is my affair,” and Westcott lit his pipe with apparent indifference.  “Lacy and I have got two mining claims tapping the same lead, that’s all.  There’s been a bit o’ feeling between us for some time.  I reckon it’s got to be fought out, now.”

“Then yer’ve really struck ore?”