Rosemary. The car was a passenger coach, well-lighted, and from his
post on the embankment Adams could see armed men filling the windows.
Michael Branagan saw them, too, and the fighting Celt in him rose to
the occasion.

"'Tis Donnybrook Fair we've come to this time, Misther Adams. Shall I
call up the b'ys wid their guns?"

"Not yet. Let's wait and see what happens."

What happened was a peaceful sortie. Two men, each with a kit of some
kind borne in a sack, dropped from the car, crossed the creek, and
struggled up the hill through the unbridged gap. Adams waited until
they were fairly on the right of way, then he called down to them.

"Halt, there! you two. This is corporation property."

"Not much it ain't!" retorted one of the trespassers gruffly. "It's
the drain-way from our placer up yonder."

"What are you going to do up there at this time of night?"

"None o' your blame business!" was the explosive counter-shot.

"Perhaps it isn't," said Adams mildly. "Just the same, I'm thirsting
to know. Call it vulgar curiosity if you like."

"All right, you can know, and be cussed to you. We're goin' to work
our claim. Got anything to say against it?"