“Anybody else act up?” queried Dunham.
“No; all the rest are Swedes and they haven’t got the nerve to fight. They couldn’t lick a spoon if they tried. These other men are different, though. There are two of them, the old one and a young fellow. I’m a little afraid to mix it up with them, and if their claim wasn’t the best in the district, I’d say let it alone.”
“I’ll attend to that,” said McNamara.
Struve resumed:
“Yes, gentlemen, I’ve been working pretty hard and also pretty much in the dark so far. I’m groping for light. When Miss Chester brought in the papers I got busy instanter. I clouded the title to the richest placers in the region, but I’m blamed if I quite see the use of it. We’d be thrown out of any court in the land if we took them to law. What’s the game—blackmail?”
“Humph!” ejaculated McNamara. “What do you take me for?”
“Well, it does seem small for Alec McNamara, but I can’t see what else you’re up to.”
“Within a week I’ll be running every good mine in the Nome district.”
McNamara’s voice was calm but decisive, his glance keen and alert, while about him clung such a breath of power and confidence that it compelled belief even in the face of this astounding speech.
In spite of himself, Wilton Struve, lawyer, rake, and gentlemanly adventurer, felt his heart leap at what the other’s daring implied. The proposition was utterly past belief, and yet, looking into the man’s purposeful eyes, he believed.