He was in no mood to calmly withstand another shock, especially when that shock was administered by Joe McCaskey, of all persons; nevertheless, it came close upon the heels of Rock's insult. Pierce had not seen either brother since their departure for Hunker Creek, therefore Joe's black visage leering through the window of the cashier's cage was an unwelcome surprise. "Hello, Phillips! How are you making it?" the man inquired. "All right." Despite this gruffness, Joe's grin widened. There was nothing of pleasure at the meeting, nor of friendliness behind it, however. On the contrary, it masked both malice and triumph, as was plain when he asked: "Did you hear about our strike?" "What strike?" "Why, it's all over town! Frank and I hit pay in our first shaft--three feet of twenty-cent dirt." "Really?" Pierce could not restrain a movement of surprise. Joe nodded and chuckled, meanwhile keeping his malignant gaze focused upon the younger man's face. "It's big. We came to town to buy grub and a dog-team and to hire a crew of hands. We've got credit at the A. C. Company up to fifty thousand dollars." There was a brief pause which Pierce broke by inquiring, as casually as he could: "Did Tom and Jerry have any luck?" "Sure thing! They've hit it, the same as us. You tossed off a home-stake, kid. Don't believe it, eh? Well, here's the proof-coarse gold from Hunker." With an ostentatious flourish the speaker flung down a half-filled poke, together with a bar check. "Cash me in, and don't let any of it stick to your fingers." Pierce was impelled to hurl the gold sack at Joe's head, but he restrained himself. His hands were shaky, however, and when he untied the thongs he was mortified at spilling some of the precious yellow particles. Mortification changed to anger when the owner cried, sharply: "Hey! Got cashier's ague, have you? Just cut out the sleight-of-hand!" Pierce smothered a retort; silently he brushed the dust back into the blower and set the weights upon his scales. But McCaskey ran on with an insulting attempt at banter: "I'm onto you short-weighers. Take your bit out of the drunks; I'm sober." When Pierce had retied the sack and returned it he looked up and into Joe's face. His own was white, his eyes were blazing. "Don't pull any more comedy here," he said, quietly. "That short-weight joke doesn't go at the Rialto." "Oh, it don't? JOKE!" McCaskey snorted. "I s'pose it's a joke to spill dust--when you can't get away with it. Well, I've spotted a lot of crooked cashiers in this town."