"I don't, or I shouldn't have asked you," Townsend answered with less patience. "Say," drawled his companion, with a calm deliberation that would have been dreaded by those who knew him, "does it hurt you much to be civil? You were asked who this man Presby is. Do you get that?" The watchman glared at him for a moment, but there was something in the cold eyes and firm lines of the prospector's face that caused him to hesitate before venturing any further display of officiousness. "He's the owner of the Rattler," he answered sullenly, "and I've got orders from him that nobody, not any one, is to step a foot on this ground. If you'd 'a' come by the road, you'd 'a' seen the sign." The partners looked at each other for an instant, and the younger man, ignoring the elder's apparent wrath, said: "Well, I suppose the best thing we can do is to leave the burros here and go and see Presby, and get this man of his called off." "You'll leave no burros here!" asserted the watchman, recovering his combativeness. "Why, you fool," exploded Mathews, starting toward him with his fists clenched and anger blazing from his eyes at the watchman's obstinate stupidity, "you're talking to one of the owners of this mine! This is Mr. Townsend." For an instant the man appeared abashed, and then grumbled acridly: "Well, I can't help it. I've got orders and----" "Oh, come on, Bill," interrupted the owner, stepping to the nearest burro's head. "We'll go on over to Presby, and get rid of this man of his. It won't hurt the burros to go a little farther." He turned to the watchman, who was scowling and obdurate. "Where can Presby and the Rattler be found?" he asked crisply. "Around the turn down at the mouth of the canyon," the watchman mumbled. "It's not more than half or three-quarters of a mile from here, but you'd better go back up the hill." As if this last suggestion was the breaking straw, the big prospector jumped forward, and caught the man's wrist with dexterous, sinewy fingers. He gave the arm a jerk that almost took the man from his feet. His eyes were hard and sharp now, and his jaw seemed to have shut tightly. "We'll go back up no hill, you bet on that!" he asserted belligerently. "We go by the road. We're done foolin' with you, my bucko! You go ahead and show the way and be quick about it! If you don't, you'll have trouble with me. Now git!" He released the wrist with a shove that sent the watchman ten feet away, and cowed him to subjection. He recovered his balance, and hesitated for a minute, muttering something about "being even for that," and then, as the big, infuriated miner took a step toward him, said: "All right! Come on," and started toward a roadway that, half ruined, led off and was lost at a turn. Cursing softly and telling the burros that it was a shame they had to go farther on account of a fool, the prospector followed, and the little procession resumed its straggling march.