“You’ll find them both,” said Glenister, “for McNamara rode into town behind me.”

The old prospector proceeded to the Golden Gate Hotel and inquired for Judge Stillman’s room.  A boy attempted to take his name, but he seized him by the scruff of the neck and sat him in his seat, proceeding unannounced to the suite to which he had been directed.  Hearing voices, he knocked, and then, without awaiting a summons, walked in.

The room was fitted like an office, with desk, table, type-writer, and law-books.  Other rooms opened from it on both sides.  Two men were talking earnestly—­one gray-haired, smooth-shaven, and clerical, the other tall, picturesque, and masterful.  With his first glance the miner knew that before him were the two he had come to see, and that in reality he had to deal with but one, the big man who shot at him the level glances.

“We are engaged,” said the Judge, “very busily engaged, sir.  Will you call again in half an hour?”

Dextry looked him over carefully from head to foot, then turned his back on him and regarded the other.  Neither he nor McNamara spoke, but their eyes were busy and each instinctively knew that here was a foe.

“What do you want?” McNamara inquired, finally.

“I just dropped in to get acquainted.  My name is Dextry—­Joe Dextry—­from everywhere west of the Missouri—­an’ your name is McNamara, ain’t it?  This here, I reckon, is your little French poodle—­eh?” indicating Stillman.

“What do you mean?” said McNamara, while the Judge murmured indignantly.

“Just what I say.  However, that ain’t what I want to talk about.  I don’t take no stock in such truck as judges an’ lawyers an’ orders of court.  They ain’t intended to be took serious.  They’re all right for children an’ Easterners an’ non compos mentis people, I s’pose, but I’ve always been my own judge, jury, an’ hangman, an’ I aim to continue workin’ my legislatif, executif, an’ judicial duties to the end of the string.  You look out!  My pardner is young an’ seems to like the idee of lettin’ somebody else run his business, so I’m goin’ to give him rein and let him amuse himself for a while with your dinky little writs an’ receiverships.  But don’t go too far—­you can rob the Swedes, ’cause Swedes ain’t entitled to have no money, an’ some other crook would get it if you didn’t, but don’t play me an’ Glenister fer Scandinavians.  It’s a mistake.  We’re white men, an’ I’m apt to come romancin’ up here with one of these an’ bust you so you won’t hold together durin’ the ceremonies.”

With his last words he made the slightest shifting movement, only a lifting shrug of the shoulder, yet in his palm lay a six-shooter.  He had slipped it from his trousers band with the ease of long practice and absolute surety.  Judge Stillman gasped and backed against the desk, but McNamara idly swung his leg as he sat sidewise on the table.  His only sign of interest was a quickening of the eyes, a fact of which Dextry made mental note.