afire,
help each other put it out."

They lay down and waited while the fire swept above and around them.
Fortunately the woods here were not dense. Men prayed or cursed or wept,
according to their natures. The logs in front of some of them caught
fire and spread to their clothing. Shorty's voice encouraged them.

"Stick it out, boys. He'll be back if he's alive."

It could have been only minutes, but it seemed hours before the voice of
Sanders rang out above the fury of the blast.

"All up! I've found the tunnel! Step lively now!"

They staggered after their leader, Shorty bringing up the rear to see
that none collapsed by the way. The line moved drunkenly forward. Now and
again a man went down, overcome by the smoke and heat. With brutal kicks
Shorty drove him to his feet again.

The tunnel was a shallow one in a hillside. Dave stood aside and counted
the men as they passed in. Two were missing. He ran along the back trail,
dense with smoke from the approaching flames, and stumbled into a man. It
was Shorty. He was dragging with him the body of a man who had fainted.
Sanders seized an arm and together they managed to get the unconscious
victim to the tunnel.

Dave was the last man in. He learned from the men in the rear that the
tunnel had no drift. The floor was moist and there was a small seepage
spring in it near the entrance.

Some of the men protested at staying.

"The fire'll lick in and burn us out like rats," one man urged. "This
ain't no protection. We've just walked into a trap. I'll take my chance
outside."

Dave reached forward and lifted one of Shorty's guns from its holster.
"You'll stay right here, Dillon. We didn't make it one minute too soon.
The whole hill out there's roaring."

"I'll take my chance out there. That's my lookout," said the man, moving
toward the entrance.

"No. You'll stay here." Dave's hard, chill gaze swept over his crew.
Several of them were backing Dillon and others were wavering. "It's your
only chance, and I'm here to see you take it. Don't take another step."

Dillon took one, and went crumpling to the granite floor before
Dave could move. Shorty had knocked him down with the butt of his
nine-inch-barrel revolver.

Already smoke was filling the cave. The fire had raced to its mouth and
was licking in with long, red, hungry tongues. The tunnel timbers were
smouldering.

"Lie down and breathe the air close to the ground," ordered Dave, just as
though a mutiny