"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. "You coward, to take advantage of two girls driven to you by the storm. I didn't think the man lived that would do it," panted Moya. "You'n got a bit to learn, miss. Whad's the use of gettin' your Dutch up. I ain't good enough for 'ee, like enough." The girl held up a hand. "Listen!" They could hear only the wild roar of the storm outside and the low sobs of Joyce as she lay crouched on the bed. "Well?" he growled. "I'm listenin'. What, then?" "I'd rather go out into that white death than stay here with such creatures as you are." "Doan't be a fool, lass. Us'n won't hurt 'ee any," the second man reassured roughly. "You'll stay here where it's warm. But you'll remember that we're boss in this shack. You'n came without being asked. I'm domned if you'll ride your high horse over me." "Go on, Dave. Tak' your kiss, man." Then the miracle happened. The door opened, and out of the swirling wind-tossed snow came a Man. CHAPTER XII OUT OF THE STORM A MAN He stood blinking in the doorway, white-sheeted with snow from head to heel. As his eyes became accustomed to the light they passed with surprise from the men to the young women. A flash of recognition lit in them, but he offered no word of greeting. Plainly he had interrupted a scene of some sort. The leer on the flushed face of Dave, the look of undaunted spirit in that of the girl facing him, the sheer panic-stricken terror of her crouching companion, all told him as much. Nor was it hard to guess the meaning of that dramatic moment he had by chance chosen for his entrance. His alert eyes took in every detail, asked questions but answered none, and in the end ignored much. "What are you doing here?" demanded one of the miners. "Been out to the Jack Pot and was on my way back to town. Got caught in the storm and struck for the nearest shelter. A bad night out, Trefoyle." He closed the door, moved forward into the room, and threw off his heavy overcoat. Moya had recognized him from the first instant. Now Joyce too saw who he was. She twisted lithely from the bed, slipped past Moya, past the miners, and with the sob of a frightened child caught at his hand and arm. "Oh, Mr. Kilmeny, save us ... save us!" Jack nodded reassuringly. "It's all right. Don't worry."