It was the only reference he ever made to it, but it went through Dick with more pain than he had administered. Almost sullenly he followed her down the road, wordless, bewildered, and despairing. Unable to spare her, unable to shield her, unable to comfort her, and unable to be other than true to his benefactor, he plodded after her into the deeper shadows of the lower gulch, across the log bridge spanning the brawling mountain stream, and up into the Rattler camp. Her steps never faltered as she advanced straight to the office door, and stepped inside. The bookkeepers were gone, and the inner door ajar. She threw it open, walked in, and closed it after Dick, who sustained a deadly anger against the man who sat at his desk, and as they entered looked up with a sharp stare of surprise. Something in the attitude of the two appeared to render him more alert, more hard, more uncompromising and he frowned, as Dick had seen him frown before when angry men made way for him and his dominant mastery. His daughter had stopped in front of the closed door, and eyed him with eyes no less determined than his own. "Your men are working under the Croix d'Or," she said coldly, without wasting words in preliminary. His face hardened instantly, and his eyes flamed, dull and defiant. The lines of his heavy jaw appeared to deepen, his shoulders lifted a trifle, as if the muscles of him had suddenly tensed for combat, and his lips had a trace of the imperious sneer. "Oh, you're certain of that, are you, my girl?" "I am," she retorted. "I was in their lower level when the Rattler's shots were fired. I heard them." For an instant he seemed about to leap from his chair, and then, recovering himself, said with sarcastic emphasis, and a deadly calmness: "And pray what were you doing there? Was the young mine owner, Townsend, there with you? Was he so kind----?" "Is there any need for an exchange of insults?" Dick demanded, taking a step toward him, and prevented from going farther only by recollection of his previous loss of temper. For an instant the mine owner defiantly met his look, and then half-rose from his chair, and stared more coldly across the litter of papers, plans, and impedimenta on his desk. "Then why are you here together?" he demanded. "Weren't you man enough to come yourself, instead of taking my daughter underground? Did you want to compel her to be the chief witness in your claim? What right had you to--?" "Father!" admonished Joan's voice. It served a double purpose, for had she not interrupted Dick might have answered with a heat that he would have regretted, and Bully Presby dropped back into his chair, and drummed with his fingers on the desk. "You took the ore. You must pay. You must!" went on the dull voice of his daughter. "But how should I know how much it amounts to, even if I do find out that some of my men drove into the Cross pay?" he answered, fixing her with his flaming eyes.