"What've they got against you and Dextry--some grudge?" she
questioned.

"No, no! We're not the only ones in trouble; they've jumped the
rest of the good mines and put this McNamara in as receiver on all
of them, but that's small comfort. The Swedes are crazy; they've
hired all the lawyers in town, and are murdering more good
American language than would fill Bering Strait. Dex is in favor
of getting our friends together and throwing the receiver off. He
wants to kill somebody, but we can't do that. They've got the
soldiers to fall back on. We've been warned that the troops are
instructed to enforce the court's action. I don't know what the
plot is, for I can't believe the old Judge is crooked--the girl
wouldn't let him."

"Girl?"

Cherry Malotte leaned forward where the light shone on the young
man's worried face.

"The girl? What girl? Who is she?"

Her voice had lost its lazy caress, her lips had thinned. Never
was a woman's face more eloquent, mused Glenister as he noted her.
Every thought fled to this window to peer forth, fearful, lustful,
hateful, as the case might be. He had loved to play with her in
the former days, to work upon her passions and watch the changes,
to note her features mirror every varying emotion from tenderness
to flippancy, from anger to delight, and, at his bidding, to see