"Worked in his mill last winter until he sacked me for calling him a maniac. I did that to draw him out, and once he started bragging in self-defence I had the key to his machinery. He has two rotary fans which get up a small cyclone between them. Into that cyclone he throws scraps of rock, and the dust of sharp-edged granite crystals cuts the stones to powder before they have time to drop. He put in a crowbar once, and I actually saw that inch-thick steel shattered into dust."
"Seems to me," said the Blackguard, "that my Tenderfoot is in for something good."
"So I suspected, but would capitalists send out a young fool like that?"
"Oh, I don't know. He's full of ignorance and bliss, but he learns quickly, doesn't get scared, keeps his mouth shut. Besides, he's honest."
Something made La Mancha look round, and there in the twilight, coming down out of the woods, were Miss Burrows and Mr. Ramsay, hand-in-hand.
The infantile innocence of their faces made him laugh: the willowy prospector, rather than embarrass any approaching fun, dodged into the shanty; so, when the enraptured couple stood before him, the Blackguard sat alone.
"We thought we ought to tell you first," the Tenderfoot simpered, blushing hotly all over,—"we are engaged."
"Oh!" said the Blackguard gravely, "since when?"
"Why, ever so long ago," Miss Burrows sighed, "this afternoon. Won't you congratulate us?"
"Next week," said the Blackguard, "if you are still of the same mind, you shall receive my blessing. Have you told Mr. Burrows?"