nd smeared with blood.

Jim Fay stooped and examined the wound closely. The bullet had entered
near the point of the shoulder, but a little below, so that it had
merely cut a secant through the curve of the muscle. If it had struck a
quarter of an inch to the left it would have gouged a furrow; a quarter
of an inch beyond that would have caused it to miss entirely. Fay saw
that the hurt itself was slight, and that the Easterner had fainted
more because of loss of blood than from the shock. This determined to
his satisfaction, he moved quickly to the mouth of the shaft. "Way
below!" he cried in a sharp voice, and discharged his revolver twice
down the opening. Then he stole noiselessly away, and ran at speed to
the kitchen of the shack, whence he immediately returned with a pail of
water and a number of towels. He set these down, and again peered down
the shaft. "Way below!" he repeated, and dropped down a sizable chunk
of ore. Apparently satisfied that the prisoners were well warned, he
gave his whole attention to his patient.

He washed the wound carefully. Then he made a compress of one of the
towels, and bound it with the other two. Looking up, he discovered
Bennington watching him intently.

"It's all right!" he assured the latter in answer to the question in
his eyes. "Nothing but a scratch. Lie still a minute till I get this
fastened, and you can sit up and watch the rat hole while I get you
some clothes."

In another moment or so the young man was propped up against an empty
ore "bucket," his shoulder bound, and his hand slung comfortably in a
sling from his neck.

"There you are," said Jim cheerily. "Now you take my six-shooter and
watch that aggregation till I get back. They won't come out any, but
you may as well be sure."

He handed Bennington his revolver, and moved off in the direction of
the cabin, whistling cheerfully. The young man looked after him
thoughtfully. Nothing could have been more considerate than the
Westerner's manner, nothing could have been kinder than his prompt
action--Bennington saw that his pony, now cropping the brush near at
hand, was black with sweat--nothing could have been more
straightforward than his assistance in the matter of the claims. And
yet Bennington de Laney was not satisfied. He felt he owed the sudden
change of front to a word spoken in his behalf by the girl. This was a
strange influence she possessed, thus to alter a man's attitude
entirely by the mere voicin