“The mine is his under the law. I am afraid that you have no claim to it. Your father never located it nor worked it. As for Banker——”
He paused until she spoke.
“Well? And what of this Banker?”
“He will not hold it long. But he has heirs, no doubt, who would not acknowledge your claim. Still, I will do my best. Sucatash will back us up when we jump the claim.”
“Jump the claim? What is that?”
He explained briefly the etiquette of this form of sport.
“But,” objected Solange, “this man will resist, most certainly. That would mean violence.”
A faint smile curled the man’s mouth under the mustache. “I am supposed to be a violent man,” he reminded her. “I’ll do the killing, and you and Sucatash will merely have to hold the claim. The sympathy of the miners will be with you, and there should be little difficulty unless it turns out that some one has a grubstake interest.”
He had to explain again the intricacies of this phase of mining. Solange listened intently, sitting now on the edge of the bunk. When he was done, she slid to her feet and took position beside him, laying her hand on his shoulder. Behind her, by the side of the bunk, was a short log, set on end as a 269 little table, on which rested the holstered automatic which De Launay had left with her.
“It appears then,” she said, when he had finished, “that, in any event I have no right to this mine. In order to seize it, you would have to fight and perhaps kill some one. But, monsieur, I am not one who would wish you to be a common bravo—a desperado—for me. This mine, it is nothing. We shall think no more of it.”