The roar deafened him. He heard the crash of falling rock, but he was so intent on his work he did not hear another man approach. Suddenly he looked up and saw.
He gave a mighty start, then at once he was calm again. This was the meeting he had dreaded, longed for, fought against, desired. Primordial emotions surged within him, but outwardly he gave no sign. Almost savagely, and with a curious blaze in his eyes he redirected the little giant.
He waved his hand to the other man.
"Go away!" he shouted.
Mosher refused to budge. The generous living of Dawson had made him pursy, almost porcine. His pig eyes glittered, and he took off his hat to wipe some beads of sweat from the monumental baldness of his forehead. He caressed his coal-black beard with a podgy hand on which a large diamond sparkled. His manner was arrogance personified. He seemed to say, "I'll make this man dance to my music."
His rich, penetrating voice pierced through the roar of the "giant."
"Here, turn off your water. I want to speak to you. Got a business proposition to make."
Still Jim was dumb.
Mosher came close to him and shouted into his ear. The two men were very calm.
"Say, your wife's in town. Been there for the last year. Didn't you know it?"