"You're damned thick-headed, when it suits you, all right. Well, I'll explain. Last clean-up I brought you two pounds of amalgam if it was an ounce. All I got out of it was fifty dollars. You said that was my share. Hansen brought you a chunk of quartz from the mine. He showed it to me first. If I know gold from sulphur, there was sixty dollars in it. Hansen got five out of it." Pierre interrupted. "You mek mention ze name." "There's no one to hear in this damned hell of yours." "_Non_," Pierre answered. "You mek mention in zis hell. Bimby you mek mention," Pierre gave an expressive upward jerk with his thumb, then shrugged his shoulders. "I'll look out for that," Luna answered, impatiently. "I'm after something else now. I'm getting sick of pinching the mill and bringing the stuff here for nothing. So are the rest of the boys. We ain't got no hold on you and you ain't playing fair. You've got to break even or this thing's going to stop." Pierre made no reply to Luna. He picked up the tongs, lifted the crucible from the fire, and again replaced it. Then he brought out an ingot mould and laid it on a ledge of the furnace. The crucible was again lifted from the fire, and its contents were emptied in the mould. Pierre and Luna both watched the glowing metal. As it slowly cooled, iridescent sheens of light swept over its surface like the changing colours of a dying dolphin. Pierre held up the mould to Luna. "How much she bin?" Luna looked covetously at the softly glowing metal. "Two hundred." "_Bien._ She's bin ze amalgam, ze quart', ze hozer stoff. Da's hall." Luna looked sceptical. "That's too thin. How many times have you fired up?" "Zis!" Pierre held up a single emphasizing finger. "We'll let that go," Luna answered; "but you listen now. One of the battery men is off to-night. I'm going to put Morrison on substitute. He's going to break a stem or something. The mortar's full to the dies. We're going to clean it out. I know how much it will pan. It's coming to you. You divide fair or it's the last you'll get. I'll hide it out in the usual place." "Look hout! Da's hall!" The other laughed impatiently. "Getting scared, Frenchy? Where's your nerve?" "Nerf! Nerf!" Pierre danced from foot to foot, waving his arms. "_Sacré plastron!_ You mek ze fuse light. You sit on him, heh? Bimeby, pretty soon, you got no nerf. You got noddings. You got one big gris-spot on ze rock. Da's hall." Pierre subsided, with a gesture of intense disgust. Luna snapped his watch impatiently. "It's my shift, Frenchy. I've got to go in a few minutes." "_Bien!_ Go!" Pierre spoke without spirit. "Mek of yourself one gran' _folie_. _Mais_, when ze shot go, an' you sail in ze air, don' come down on ze Blue Goose, on me, Pierre. I won't bin here, da's hall." Luna turned. "I tell you I've got to go now. I wish you'd tell me what's the matter with the old man." Pierre roused himself.