the Chinaman. But he could kill more
than one of them before they could drop him. These things were clear.
And the men hesitated.

"Afraid?" he laughed, taunting, jeering them, all discretion swept
away from him. "Why don't you send some more men? There might be a
little whisky left--if you hurry!"

He saw Ben and Mundy stir uneasily, saw them glance at each other, at
the barrel with its shattered staves and gushing liquor, at the men
whom they were self-elected to lead, and back to him. He saw the Lark
and the man Peters standing close together, talking earnestly, seeming
to argue with growing heat. And as the wave of hot blood left him and
he grew cool and his saner judgment came back to him he called out to
them sternly, but not threateningly, not mockingly:

"Ben! Mundy! you, Peters! and you, Lark! what's the use? Hasn't this
thing gone far enough? You can kill me, but what good will it do? Your
whisky is spilled, and you can't get it back. You know the wages I
offered you fellows yesterday. You can go back to them, and nothing
said. I have five hundred more men coming from Denver. They can take
your jobs if you like. You can go to Swinnerton, but when he knows
that I have fired you he won't take you on. You know that he is just
taking men to keep us from getting them. You'd be fools to give up
your jobs now. What's the word, boys? Will you go back to work, Ben?
And you, Peters? And you, Mundy and the Lark? Shall I tell the cook to
get coffee ready? Talk up lively. What is it?"

A rumbling chorus of murmurs rose up to greet him. The men were
sullen, and they snarled openly at him. But he could see that already
the thing had gone further than the more law-abiding spirits had
thought to see it go. A sudden soberness had fallen upon many of them,
and with it a cooler sanity. They broke into quick talk everywhere up
and down the line. He could see that no longer at least were they
united against him. He could see that the argument between Peters and
the Lark was strong, heated. And he hoped and prayed that good might
come of it and of the brief hesitation.

Suddenly the Lark broke away from his comrades and ran forward.
Conniston, ever watchful, ever suspicious, covered him with his rifle.
But the Lark was grinning, and as he came closer he lifted his two
hands.

"I'm with you!" he shouted. "I got a bellyful of this here racket.
An'," with a glance over his shoulder, "I got a bellyful of that
rotgut, too. Besid