“Well,” continued Zenobia, “the Ditch didn’t boom ez soon ez they kalkilated.  And then the boys kept gettin’ poorer and poorer, and Ned he kept gettin’ poorer and poorer in everything but his hopefulness and grit.  Then he looks around for more capital.  And about this time, that coyote Harkins smelt suthin’ nice up there, and he gits Ned to give him control of it, and he’ll lend him his name and fix up a company.  Soon ez he gets control, the first thing he does is to say that it wants half a million o’ money to make it pay, and levies an assessment of two hundred dollars a share.  That’s nothin’ for them rich fellows to pay, or pretend to pay, but for boys on grub wages it meant only ruin.  They couldn’t pay, and had to forfeit their shares for next to nothing.  And Ned made one more desperate attempt to save them and himself by borrowing money on his shares; when that hound Harkins got wind of it, and let it be buzzed around that the Ditch is a failure, and that he was goin’ out of it; that brought the shares down to nothing.  As Ned couldn’t raise a dollar, the new company swooped down on his shares for the debts they had put up, and left him and the boys to help themselves.  Ned couldn’t bear to face the boys that he’d helped to ruin, and put out, and ain’t been heard from since.  After Harkins had got rid of Ned and the boys he manages to pay off that wonderful debt, and sells out for a hundred thousand dollars.  That money—­Ned’s money—­he sends to Sacramento, for he don’t dare to travel with it himself, and is kalkilatin’ to leave the kentry, for some of the boys allow to kill him on sight.  So ef you’re wantin’ to hunt suthin’, thar’s yer chance, and you needn’t go inter the snow to do it.”

“But surely the law can recover this money?” said Hale indignantly.  “It is as infamous a robbery as—­” He stopped as he caught Zenobia’s eye.

“Ez last night’s, you were goin’ to say.  I’ll call it more.  Them road agents don’t pretend to be your friend—­but take yer money and run their risks.  For ez to the law—­that can’t help yer.”

“It’s a skin game, and you might ez well expect to recover a gambling debt from a short-card sharp,” explained Clinch; “Falkner oughter shot him on sight.”

“Or the boys lynched him,” suggested Rawlins.

“I think,” said Hale, more reflectively, “that in the absence of legal remedy a man of that kind should have been forced under strong physical menace to give up his ill-gotten gains.  The money was the primary object, and if that could be got without bloodshed—­which seems to me a useless crime—­it would be quite as effective.  Of course, if there was resistance or retaliation, it might be necessary to kill him.”

He had unconsciously fallen into his old didactic and dogmatic habit of speech, and perhaps, under the spur of Zenobia’s eyes, he had given it some natural emphasis.  A dead silence followed, in which the others regarded him with amused and gratified surprise, and it was broken only by Zenobia rising and holding out her hand.  “Shake!”