"A highgrader is one who steals rich ore from the mine where he works," answered Verinder smugly. Moya, eyes hot and shining, flashed her challenge at him. "I don't believe it--not a word of it, so far as Mr. Kilmeny is concerned." "Afraid that doesn't change the facts, Miss Dwight. It's a matter of general knowledge." Beneath Verinder's bland manner there lurked a substratum of triumph. "General fiddlesticks! Don't believe it, Joyce," cried Moya stormily. "He doesn't even work as a miner. He owns his own lease." "He used to work in the mines, even if he doesn't now. There are stories----" "Ridiculous to think it of Mr. Kilmeny," exploded Moya. "We've done nothing but insult him ever since we've known him. First he was a highwayman. Now he is a thief. Anything else, Mr. Verinder?" "Everybody knows it," retorted Verinder sulkily. "Then prove it. Put him in prison. Aren't there any laws in the state? If everybody knows it, why isn't he arrested?" the Irish girl flamed. "Moya," chided Lady Farquhar gently. Her ward turned upon Lady Jim a flushed face stirred by anger to a vivid charm. "Can't you see how absurd it is? He owns his own lease. Mr. Bleyer admits it. Is he robbing himself, then?" The muscles stood out on the cheeks of the superintendent like cords. He stuck doggedly to his guns. "I didn't say he stole the ore himself. The charge is that he buys it from the men who do take it. His lease is an excuse. Of course he pretends to get the ore there." "It's the common talk of the camp," snapped Verinder contemptuously. "The man doesn't even keep it under decent cover." "Then prove it ... prove it! That ought to be easy--since everybody knows it." Moya's voice was low, but her scornful passion lashed the Englishman as with a whip. "By Jove, that's just what I'm going to do. I'm going to put our friend behind the bars for a few years," the smug little man cried triumphantly. The red spots on Moya's cheeks burned. The flashing eyes of the girl defied her discarded lover. "If you can," she amended with quiet anger. The soft laugh of Joyce saved for the moment the situation. "Dear me, aren't we getting a little excited? Mr. Bleyer, tell me more. How does a--a highgrader, didn't you call him?--how does he get a chance to steal the ore?" "He picks out the best pieces while he is working--the nuggets that are going to run a high per cent. of gold--and pockets them. At night he carries them away." "But--haven't you any policemen here? Why don't you stop them and search them?" "The miners' union is too strong. There would be a strike if we tried it. But it has got to come to that soon. The companies will have to join hands for a finish fight. They can't have men hoisted up from their work with a hundred dollars' worth of ore stowed away on them." "Is it as bad as that, Mr. Bleyer?" asked Lady Farquhar in surprise. "Sometimes they take two or three hundred dollars' worth at once."