It was about this time that Macguire thought it necessary to return to the scene of his discomfiture, and view for himself the progress made by his worthy confrères. His arrangement with his men was the not uncommon one of "grubstaking" for half the profits; that is, he kept them in food, and supplied them with all necessary tools in return for a half interest in the wealth of the mines so worked. It is a sufficiently equitable understanding when made between an honestly intentioned capitalist and a down-on-his-luck miner over the development of a wholly questionable prospect; but it is rarely successful on a proved mineral area, and when it is attempted in such a case, it invariably leaks out that those so employed are strongly in the clutches of the "grubstaker," who is usually the local publican. There was a curious rude kind of honour among these men. They respected their chief principally because of his great bodily strength, and if there was an element of fear mixed with this respect, who could blame them? But they admired his sharpness, too; few men could get the better of Macguire; and so these wretched creatures chuckled at the fact that their patron was a power in the land, and could do much to influence their several careers when he wished. Nevertheless, their leanings towards hard manual labour were not of the strongest; their usual routine in the past had been "jumping" mines when the bulk of the work thereon had been done, but on this occasion their amiable intentions in that direction had received a rude check, and base toil must now be their portion, unless some purchaser for their claims could be found. So it happened that their excavations progressed with exceeding slowness, and Macguire, growing wroth at their failure to strike the wash in a reasonable time, and having now recovered his wonted energy, determined to proceed again to the Flat and direct operations in person. He arrived at a very early hour in the morning, riding Furious. Few of the camp were about, but the ubiquitous Shadow was of course in evidence, seated at his solitary breakfast outside his tent door.
"Blow me," murmured that gentle youth, "if it ain't Macguire."
The recognition was mutual.
"So you got back, you young ruffian?" came the new-comer's greeting, and the Shadow's ire was aroused at once.
"I hope the Warden didn't say nothin' unkind to you when you called on him that morning," said he, with exaggerated solicitude. "I should just hate to think yer feelin's had been hurt."
The horseman's eyes blazed angrily; then, all of a sudden, he threw himself from the saddle and made a rush at his enemy, who agilely dodged at the last moment, with the result that Macguire's great bulk hurled itself against the tent.
"I reckon that's as good as house-breakin', it is," protested the Shadow, in injured tones.
With rage in his heart, Macguire made another wild dash at the mocking youngster, who took refuge behind the windlass on his shaft, and eyed his panting aggressor cheerfully. In this position of antagonism, Emu Bill, who had been awakened from his slumbers by the strange sounds without, found them. He took in the scene at a glance, but his set bronzed face did not move a muscle.
"I reckon you has just about met your match this time, Macguire," said he, calmly. "A boy is about your size every time, he is."