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She nodded dismissal, and the youth went quickly, his face burning.

At the far end of the veranda he almost ran into Big Basford, whose huge, gorilla-like shape was made more sinister and repellant by the perceptible limp. Basford was always somewhere near, if possible, when men talked with Kate Cathrew.

His great strength and stature, his small eyes, black and rimmed with red, his unkempt head and flaring black beard, everything about him suggested a savagery and power with which few men cared to trifle.

He scanned the boy’s flushed face with swift appraising.

“I take it,” he said grinning, “that the boss wasn’t pleased with you?”

“Take it or leave it,” said the other with foolhardy daring, “is it any of your business?”

With a smothered roar Big Basford leaped for him, surprisingly nimble on his lamed foot, surprisingly light.

He caught him by the throat and bore him backward across the veranda’s edge, so that both bodies fell heavily on the boards of the floor.

“You’ll find what’s my business, damn you,” gritted Big Basford; “you——!”