Glenister stared back while his pulse pounded at something that
lay in the other's words.

"It belongs to us," the young man said. "There wouldn't be
anything wrong about it, would there?"

Dextry sneered. "Wrong! Right! Them is fine an' soundin' titles in
a mess like this. What do they mean? I tell you, at midnight to-
night Alec McNamara will have twenty thousand dollars of our
money--"

"God! What would happen if they caught us?" whispered the younger,
following out his thought. "They'd never let us get off the claim
alive. He couldn't find a better excuse to shoot us down and get
rid of us. If we came up before this Judge for trial, we'd go to
Sitka for twenty years."

"Sure! But it's our only chance. I'd ruther die on the Midas in a
fair fight than set here bitin' my hangnails. I'm growin' old and
I won't never make another strike. As to bein' caught--them's our
chances. I won't be took alive--I promise you that--and before I
go I'll get my satisfy. Castin' things up, that's about all a man
gets in this vale of tears, jest satisfaction of one kind or
another. It'll be a fight in the open, under the stars, with the
clean, wet moss to lie down on, and not a scrappin'-match of freak
phrases and law-books inside of a stinkin' court-room. The cards
is shuffled and in the box, pardner, and the game is started. If
we're due to win, we'll win. If we're due to lose, we'll lose.
These things is all figgered out a thousand years back. Come on,
boy. Are you game?"