"No, you bet you can't prove anything," spoke up Wunpost defiantly, "and you can't touch an ounce of my ore. It's mine and I stole it and no court can make me show where; because a man can't be compelled to incriminate himself--and if I showed you they could come out and pinch me. Huh! You've got a lawyer, have you? Well, I've got one myself and I know my legal rights and if any man puts out his hand to take away this bag, I've got a right to shoot him dead! Ain't that right now, Mr. Flip Flappum?" "Well--the law gives one the right to defend his own property; but only with sufficient force to resist the attack, and to shoot would be excessive." "Not with me!" asserted Wunpost, "I've consulted one of the best lawyers in Nevada and I'm posted on every detail. There's Pisen-face Lynch, that everybody knows is a gun-man in the employ of Judson Eells, and at the first crooked move I'd be justified in killing him and then in killing you and Eells. Oh, I'll law you, you dastards, I'll law you with a six-shooter--and I've got an attorney all hired to defend me. We've agreed on his fee and I've got it all buried where he can go get it when I give him the directions; and I hope he gets it soon because then there'll be just three less grafters, to rob honest prospectors of their rights." He advanced upon Lapham, his great head thrust out as he followed his squirming flight through the crowd; and when he was gone he turned upon Eells who stood his ground with insolent courage. "And you, you big slob," he went on threateningly, "you don't need to think you'll git off. I ain't afraid of your gun-man, and I ain't afraid of you, and before we get through I'm going to _git_ you. Well, laugh if you want to--it's your scalp or mine--and you can jest politely go to hell."