“But Shanty Moir we have heard of. Aye, we have heard of him. At Fifty Mile, and at Dumont’s Camp he had been, throwing dust and nuggets across the bars and to the painted women, boasting he is king of the richest deposit in the North, and offering to kill any man who offers to follow his trail to his holdings. Aye, that we have heard. And that must mean only one thing—the cut-throat Moir has done my brother to death and is flourishing on the gold that drew James MacGregor to his doom. “Well,” he went on harshly, “what men have found others can find. We have sent word broadcast that we will find Shanty Moir and his holdings, and that I will have an accounting with him, aye, an accounting that will leave but one of us above ground, if it takes me the rest of my life.” “And mine,” interjected the girl hotly. “Shanty Moir is mine, and I take toll for my father’s life. It’s no matter what comes to me, if I can bring justice to Shanty Moir for what he has done to my father. My hand—my own hand will take toll when we run the dog to earth.” In his bunk Reivers laughed scornfully. “I’ve a good notion to go hunting this Moir and bring him to you just to see if you could make those words good,” said he. “With your own hand, eh? You’d fail, of course, at the last moment, being a woman, but it would almost be worth while getting this Moir for you to see what you’d do. Yes, it would be an interesting experiment.” It was the girl’s turn to laugh now, her laughter mocking his. “‘Twould be interesting to see what you would do did you stand face to face with Shanty Moir,” she sneered. “Yes, ’twould be an interesting experiment—to see how you’d crawl. For this can be said of the villain, Shanty Moir, that he does not run from men to get help from women. You bring Shanty Moir in! How would you do it—with your mouth?” “On second thought it would be cruel and unusual punishment to make any man listen to your tongue,” concluded Reivers solemnly. MacGregor growled and shook his head. “There’s no doubt that Shanty Moir of the black heart is a hard-grown, experienced man,” said he. “Henchmen of his—three of them, Welshmen all—came through here while James and he were hunting the mine, and he treated them like dogs and they him like a chieftain. ’Twas one of them you slew with the rock out yon, and the matter is very plain: Shanty Moir has got word to them and they have come to the mine and overpowered my brother James. You may judge of the strong hand he holds over his men when a single one of them dares to raid my camp in my absence and steal the daughter of James MacGregor for his chieftain—a strong, big man. ’Twill make it all the sweeter when we get him. He will die hard.” “Also—being of a thrifty breed—you won’t feel sorry at getting hold of whatever gold he’s taken out,” suggested Reivers. “That’s understood,” said MacGregor, and put a fresh chunk on the fire for the night. CHAPTER XXVI—THE LOOK IN A WOMAN’S EYES