“Sure thing!  They’ve hit it, the same as us.  You tossed off a home-stake, kid.  Don’t believe it, eh?  Well, here’s the proof-coarse gold from Hunker.”  With an ostentatious flourish the speaker flung down a half-filled poke, together with a bar check.  “Cash me in, and don’t let any of it stick to your fingers.”

Pierce was impelled to hurl the gold sack at Joe’s head, but he restrained himself.  His hands were shaky, however, and when he untied the thongs he was mortified at spilling some of the precious yellow particles.  Mortification changed to anger when the owner cried, sharply: 

“Hey!  Got cashier’s ague, have you?  Just cut out the sleight-of-hand!”

Pierce smothered a retort; silently he brushed the dust back into the blower and set the weights upon his scales.  But McCaskey ran on with an insulting attempt at banter: 

“I’m onto you short-weighers.  Take your bit out of the drunks; I’m sober.”

When Pierce had retied the sack and returned it he looked up and into Joe’s face.  His own was white, his eyes were blazing.

“Don’t pull any more comedy here,” he said, quietly.  “That short-weight joke doesn’t go at the Rialto.”

“Oh, it don’t?  Joke!” McCaskey snorted.  “I s’pose it’s a joke to spill dust—­when you can’t get away with it.  Well, I’ve spotted a lot of crooked cashiers in this town.”

“No doubt.  It takes a thief to catch a thief.”  McCaskey started.  His sneer vanished.  “Thief!  Say—­” he blustered, angrily.  “D’you mean—­” The clash, brief as it had been, had excited attention.  Noting the fact that an audience was gathering, the speaker lowered his voice and, thrusting his black, scowling countenance closer to the cage opening, he said:  “You needn’t remind me of anything.  I’ve got a good memory.  Damn’ good!” After a moment he turned his back and moved away.

When Pierce went off shift he looked up Lars Anderson and received confirmation of the Hunker strike.  Lars was in a boisterous mood and eager to share his triumph.

“I knew that was a rich piece of ground,” he chuckled, “and I knew I was handing those boys a good thing.  But a fellow owes something to his friends, doesn’t he?”

“I thought you said it was low grade?”

“Low grade!” Big Lars threw back his head and laughed loudly.  “I never said nothing of the kind.  Me knock my own ground?  Why, I’d have banked my life on Hunker!”

Here was luck, Pierce told himself.  A fortune had been handed him on a silver platter, and he had shoved it aside.  He was sick with regret; he was furious with himself for his lack of wisdom; he hated Laure for the deception she had practised upon him.  The waste he had made of this opportunity bred in him a feeling of desperation.

Toward the close of the show Laure found him braced against the bar; the face he turned upon her was cold, repellent.  When she urged him to take her to supper he shook his head.