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Updated: June 18, 2025
Dick walked out, scarcely knowing whether to feel grateful for the churlish advice or to resume his wonted attitude of self-reliance and hold himself unprejudiced by Presby's condemnation of the Croix d'Or. He wondered if Bully Presby suspected him of having been friendly with the mob of drunken ruffians at the road house, but he had been given no chance to explain.
I have nothing to do with it. If you make a fool use of it, it'll be your fault, not mine. I'm giving it to you so that if anything happened to me, or the Rattler, you'd not be helplessly busted." He jumped to his feet with an exclamation. "The Rattler! The Rattler! And and your name is Joan and not Dorothy, and you are Bully Presby's daughter?" He was bewildered by surprise. "Why, yes.
The rough suggestion of Bully Presby on the first day, discouraging him; the harsh attitude; the persistent attempts to dishearten him and buy him out; the endeavor to buy half the property from, and remove the backing, of Sloan, without which he could not go on; the words of the watchman, who doubtless had discovered Bully Presby's secret theft, blackmailed him as much as he could, and, dying, cursed him; but, hating the men of the mine more, had withheld the vital meaning of his accusation.
Dick handed him Presby's order, and the man read it through in surly silence; then his entire attitude underwent a swift change. He became almost obsequiously respectful. "I'll have to go down and have a talk with Mr. Presby," he said, and would have ventured a further remark, but was cut short by the mine-owner. "Yes, you'd better go and see him," Dick said concisely.
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