"So you're Verinder's friends, are you? Well, we don't think a whole lot of Mr. Verinder out here."
Moya knew now that the mention of Verinder's name had been a mistake. The relations between the mine owners and the workmen in the camp were strained, and as a foreign non-resident capitalist the English millionaire was especially obnoxious. Moreover, his supercilious manners had not helped to endear him since his arrival.
The man called Dave got to his feet with a reckless laugh. "No free lodgings here for Mr. Verinder's friends. You'n got to pay for your keep, my dears."
Miss Dwight looked at him with unflinching eyes which refused to understand his meaning. "We'll pay whatever you ask and double the amount after we reach camp."
"Don't want your dirty money. Gi' us a kiss, lass. That's fair pay. We ain't above kissing Verinder's friends if he is a rotten slave driver."
Moya rose to her slender height, and the flash of courage blazed in her eyes.
"Sit down," she ordered.
The man stopped in his tracks, amazed at the resolution of the slim tall girl.
"Go on, Dave. Don't let her bluff you," his companion urged.
The miner laughed and moved forward.