There were tears, half of anger, gathering back in her eyes, but Rimrock took no thought of that.
"Oh, you don't like my style, eh?" he came back resentfully. "All you want out of me is my money."
"No, I don't!" she retorted. "I don't want your money! I want a share in that mine!"
"Say, who are you, anyway?" burst out Rimrock explosively. "Are you some wise one that's on the inside?"
"That's none of your business," she answered sharply, "you were satisfied when you took all my money."
"That's right," agreed Rimrock rubbing his jaw reflectively, "that's right, it was no questions asked. Now, say, I'm excited—I ought not to talk that way—I want to explain to you just how I'm fixed. I went back to New York and organized a company and gave one man forty-nine per cent. of my stock. He puts up the money and I put up the mine—and run it, absolutely. If I give you any stock I lose control of my mine; so I'm going to ask you to let me off."
He drew out his roll—that banded sheaf of yellow notes that he loved so dearly to flash—and began slowly to count off the bills.
"When you think it's enough," he went on ponderously, "you can say so, but I need all that stock."
He laid out the bills, one after another, and the girl settled back in her chair. "That's ten," he observed, "these are thousand-dollar bills—well, there's twelve, then—I'll make it thirteen." He glanced up expectantly, but she gave no sign and Rimrock dealt impassively on. "Well, fourteen—lots of money. Say, how much do you want? Fifteen thousand—you only gave me four hundred. Sixteen, seventeen—well, you get the whole roll; but say, girl, I can't give you that stock."
He threw down the last bill and faced her appealingly, but she answered with a hard little laugh.