uld hear water
drip somewhere afar off.

"Burke," asked the engineer suddenly, "how long have you fellows been
in here?"

The uneasy Irishman shifted his quid, apparently considering whether to
speak the truth or take the chances of a lie. Something within
Winston's face must have decided him against the suggested falsehood.

"Well, sorr, Oi 've only been boss over this gang for a matter o' three
months," he said slowly, "an' they was well into this vein be then."

"How deep are we down?"

"Between sixty an' siventy fate, countin' it at the shaft."

"And this tunnel--how long do you make it?"

"Wan hundred an' forty-six fate, from the rock yonder."

Winston's gray eyes, grave with thought, were upon the man's face, but
the other kept his own concealed, lowered to the rock floor.

"Who laid out this work, do you know? Who did the engineering?"

"Oi think ut was the ould man hisself. Annyhow, that 's how thim
Swades tell ut."

Winston drew a deep breath.

"Well, he knew his business, all right; it's a neat job," he admitted,
a sudden note of admiration in his voice. His glance wandered toward
the dull sparkle of the exposed ore. "I suppose you know who all this
rightly belongs to, don 't you, Burke?"

The foreman spat reflectively into the dark, a grim smile bristling his
red moustache.

"Well, sorr, Oi 'm not mooch given up to thinkin'," he replied calmly.
"If it's them ide's yer afther, maybe it wud be Farnham ye'd betther
interview, sure, an he 's the lad whut 'tinds to that end o' it for
this outfit. Oi 'm jist bossin' me gang durin' workin' hours, an'
slapin' the rist o' the toime in the bunk-house. Oi 'm dommed if Oi
care who owns the rock."

The two men sat in silence. Burke indifferently chewing on his quid.
Winston shifted the revolver into his left hand, and began slowly
tracing lines, and marking distances, on the back of an old envelope.
The motionless foreman steadily watched him through cautiously lowered
lashes, holding the lamp in his hat perfectly steady. Slowly, with no
other muscle moving, both his hands stole upward along his body; inch
by inch attaining to a higher position without awakening suspicion.
His half-concealed eyes, as watchful as those of a cat, gleamed
feverishly beneath his hat-brim, never deserting Winston's partially
lowered face. Then suddenly his two palms came together, the
sputtering flame of the lamp between them.

CHAPTER XVI

A RETURN TO TH