He laughed, in no way angered by my plain speech; indeed it almost
seemed as though he felt complimented.

"Hardly admit, my friend, for that is not my style. I let others do
the guessing. What do you think of that, Carver? It seems we rank
rather high in the estimation of the young man." His eyes again
centered on me. "And you are really not acquainted with either of the
ladies?"

"No."

"I see; a self-appointed squire of dames; actuated merely by a romantic
desire to serve beauty in distress. Extremely interesting, my dear
boy. But, see here, Knox," and his tone changed to seriousness. "Let
the romance go, and talk sense a minute. You are not going to get very
far fighting me alone. You haven't even got the law with you. Even if
I cheated Beaucaire, which I do not for a moment admit, there is no
proof. The money is mine, and so is the land, and the niggers. You
can be ugly, of course, but you cannot overturn the facts. Now I don't
care a whoop in hell for that bunch of miners back there in the cabin.
If left alone they will forget all about this affair in an hour. It's
nothing to them, and they are no angels if it was. But, in a way, it
is different with you. I understand that, and also that you are in a
position where you might make me some trouble. People would listen to
what you had to say--and some of them might believe you. Now you
acknowledge that what has occurred is personally nothing to you;
Beaucaire was no special friend, and you don't even know the two
girls--all right then, drop the whole matter. I hold no grudge on
account of your striking me, and am even willing to share up with you
to avoid trouble."