"You bet you'll win!" cried Reeves, heartily, "And if I'm any judge, I'd say you've won already. How about it Brent?"
Deliberately—thoughtfully, Brent nodded: "She has won," he said.
"On the word of a Brent?" Reba Reeves' eyes were looking straight into his own as she asked the question.
"Yes," he answered, "On the word of a Brent."
A moment's silence followed the words, after which he turned to Reeves: "And, now—let's talk business. I have used about half the dust you loaned me. There is nothing worth while on the Coppermine—now." He smiled, as his eyes rested upon the girl, "So I have come back to take that job you offered me. Eleven hundred miles, we came, under the chaperonage of Joe Pete——"
"And a very capable chaperonage it was!" laughed Reeves, "Funniest thing I ever saw in my life—there
in your cabin the morning you started. It was then I learned to know Joe Pete. But, go on."
"That's about all there is to it. Except that I'd like to keep the rest of the dust, and pay you back in installments—that is, if the job is still open. I've got to borrow enough for a start, somewhere—and I reckon you're about the only friend I've got left."
"How about that fellow, Camillo Bill? I thought he was a friend of yours."
"I thought so too, but—when I was down and out, and wanted a grub-stake, he turned me down. He's all right though—square as a die."