"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 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." Again De Launay was mildly surprised. He had supposed that the loss of the mine would affect her poignantly and yet she was dismissing it more lightly than he could have done had she not been concerned. And in her expression of consideration for him there was a sweetness that stirred him greatly. He lifted his hand to hers where it rested on his shoulder, and she did not withdraw from his touch. "And yet," he said, "there is no reason that you should concern yourself lest I act like a desperado. There are those who would say that I merely lived up to my character. The General de Launay you have heard of, I think?" "I have heard of him as a brave and able man," answered Solange. "And as a driver of flesh and blood beyond endurance, a butcher of men. It was so of the colonel, the _commandant_, the _capitaine_. And, of the _légionnaire_, you have heard what has always been heard. We of the _Légion_ are not lap dogs, mademoiselle." "I do not care," said Solange. "And before the _Légion_, what? There was the cow-puncher, the range bully, the gunman; the swashbuckling flourisher of six-shooters; the notorious Louisiana." He heard her breath drawn inward in a sharp hiss. Then, with startling suddenness, her hand was jerked from under his but not before he had sensed an instant chilling of the warm flesh. Wondering, he turned to see her stepping backward in slow, measured steps while her eyes, fixed immovably upon him, blazed with a fell light, mingled of grief, horror and rage. Her features were frozen and pale, like a death mask. The light of the fire struck her hair and seemed to turn it into a wheel of angry flame. There was much of the roused fury in her and as much of a lost and despairing soul.