"I've got my rights," he whimpered.
"You've forfeited your rights to own that dog," was the rejoinder."Are you going to take the money? Or do I have to hit you again?""All right," Beauty Smith spoke up with the alacrity of fear."But Itake the money under protest," he added."The dog's a mint.I ain't a-goin'
to be robbed.A man's got his rights."
"Correct," Scott answered, passing the money over to him."A man's got his rights.But you're not a man.You're a beast.""Wait till I get back to Dawson," Beauty Smith threatened."I'll have the law on you.""If you open your mouth when you get back to Dawson, I'll have you run out of town.Understand?"Beauty Smith replied with a grunt.
"Understand?" the other man thundered with abrupt fierceness.
"Yes," Beauty Smith grunted, shrinking away.
"yes, what?"
"Yes, sir." Beauty Smith snarled.
"Look out! He'll bite!" someone shouted, and a guffaw of laughter went up.
Some of the men were already departing; others stood in groups, looking on and talking.Tim Keenan joined one of the groups.
"Who's that mug?" he asked.
"Weedon Scott," someone answered.
"And who in hell is Weedon Scott?" the faro-dealer demanded.
"Oh, one of them crack-a-jack mining experts.He's in with all the big bugs.If you want to keep out of trouble, you'll steer clear of him, that's my talk.He's all hunky with the officials.The Gold Commissioner's a special pal of his.""I thought he must be somebody," was the faro-dealer's comment."That's why I kept my hands offen him at the start."