“It is a little, bluish white vein. I have pieces in my box. I’ll show them to you perhaps this evening,” offered Peg.
“And two men called up to the tent just after you left this morning,” remarked Cleo. “They yelled ‘sissy’ and we didn’t answer them.”
“Were they riding?” asked Peg.
“Yes. Two big capitalistic looking gents,” said Corene. She was still fascinated with the ore drill, for Corene had a manual training turn of mind.
“Mr. Fairbanks and his New York partner,” explained Peg. “They came up here with all sorts of threats, if I didn’t let them see dad’s papers. But when I told them the Tourlander was coming in port—as you told me, you know—they didn’t seem quite so—fierce. Big men like Fairbanks are always cowards,” declared Peg, with a pardonable sneer.
“Did they see your guns?” joked Louise, looking about for a possible glimpse of the weapons.
“Didn’t get a chance. I just met them outside the hedge, and they didn’t even leave their horses.”
A long low bench stood under the window with the inverted blind. One by one the girls slid into place on it, like a band of little kindergartners.
“I have always longed to see a real factory,” ventured Cleo. “I should love to hear your buzz, Peg.”
The “manager” stepped over to a small machine and pressed her foot upon it. The buzz promptly responded.