"You've got to," she said. "I don't want your money. I want one per cent. of your stock."
"What, of what I've got left? Oh, of the whole capital stock! Well, that only leaves me fifty per cent."
"That's one way of looking at it. Now look at it another way. Don't you think I'm entitled to that? Don't you think if I'd said when I gave you that money: 'All I want is one per cent. of your mine'—don't you think now, honestly, that you'd have said: 'All right!' and agreed to it on the spot?"
She looked at him squarely and the fair-fighting Rimrock had to agree, though reluctantly, that she was right.
"Well, now that you've won when nobody expected you to, now that you've got money enough to get the whole town drunk, is that any reason why you should come to a poor typist and ask her to give up her rights? I'm putting it frankly and unless you can answer me I want you to give me that stock."
"Well, all right, I'll do it," answered Rimrock impulsively. "I promised you, and that's enough. But you've got to agree not to sell that stock—and to vote it with me, every time."
"Very well," she said, "I'll agree not to sell it—at least not to any one but you. And as far as the voting goes, I think we can arrange that; I'll vote for whatever seems right."
"No, right or wrong!" challenged Rimrock instantly. "I'm not going to be beat out of my mine!"
"What do you mean?" she demanded. "I hope you don't think——"
"Never mind what I think," answered Rimrock grimly, "I got bit once, and that's enough. I lost the old Gunsight just by trusting my friends, and this time I'm not trusting anybody."