But Phillips could not laugh.  He could more easily have cried, or cursed, or raved; even to pretend to laugh off such an affront was impossible.  It required no more than this show of opposition to fan the embers of his flickering desire into full flame, and, now that he was forbidden to meet that flying goddess, it seemed to him that he must do so at whatever cost.  He’d go to that dance, he decided, in spite of Rock; he’d go unbidden; he’d force his way in if needs be.

This sudden ardor died, however, as quickly as it had been born, leaving him cold with apprehension.  What would happen if he took the bit in his teeth?  Rock knew about Laure—­those detestable redcoats knew pretty much everything that went on beneath the surface of Dawson life—­and if Pierce ran counter to the fellow’s warning he would probably speak out.  Rock was just that sort.  His methods were direct and forceful.  What then?  Pierce cringed inwardly at the contemplation.  That snow-girl was so clean, so decent, so radically different from all that Laure stood for, that he shrank from associating them together even in his thoughts.

Well, he was paying the fiddler, and the price was high.  Even here on the fringe of the frontier society exacted penalty for the breach of its conventions.  Pierce’s rebellion at this discovery, his resentment at the whole situation, prevented him from properly taking the lesson to heart.  The issue was clouded, too, by a wholly natural effort at self-justification.  The more he tried this latter, however, the angrier he became and the more humiliating seemed his situation.

He was in no mood to calmly withstand another shock, especially when that shock was administered by Joe McCaskey, of all persons; nevertheless, it came close upon the heels of Rock’s insult.

Pierce had not seen either brother since their departure for Hunker Creek, therefore Joe’s black visage leering through the window of the cashier’s cage was an unwelcome surprise.

“Hello, Phillips!  How are you making it?” the man inquired.

“All right.”

Despite this gruffness, Joe’s grin widened.  There was nothing of pleasure at the meeting, nor of friendliness behind it, however.  On the contrary, it masked both malice and triumph, as was plain when he asked: 

“Did you hear about our strike?”

“What strike?”

“Why, it’s all over town!  Frank and I hit pay in our first shaft—­ three feet of twenty-cent dirt.”

“Really?” Pierce could not restrain a movement of surprise.

Joe nodded and chuckled, meanwhile keeping his malignant gaze focused upon the younger man’s face.  “It’s big.  We came to town to buy grub and a dog-team and to hire a crew of hands.  We’ve got credit at the A. C. Company up to fifty thousand dollars.”

There was a brief pause which Pierce broke by inquiring, as casually as he could: 

“Did Tom and Jerry have any luck?”