re!" said Adela. "Why, what is the matter? Are you going to
faint?" She went to the girl and bent over her, frightened by her look.
"What is the matter, Dot? What has happened to you? You haven't been
hurt?"

"I am--all right," Dot said, with an effort. "Did Mr. Harley bring you
here?"

"Yes. And you? How did you get here?"

"He--brought me most of the way--Mr. Warden," Dot said. "He has gone now
to save--Fletcher Hill."

"To shoot him, more likely," said Adela. "He has posted sentinels all
round the mine to catch him. I wonder if we are safe here! Mr. Harley
said it was a safe place. But I wonder. Shall we make a bolt for it, Dot?
Shall we? Shall we?"

"I shall stay here," Dot answered.

Adela was not even listening. "We are only two defenceless women, and
there isn't a man to look after us. What shall we do if--Ah! Heavens!
What is that?"

A fearful sound had cut short her speculations--a fiendish yelling as of
a pack of wolves leaping upon their prey. Dot sat up swiftly. Adela
cowered in a corner.

The terrible noise continued, appalling in its violence. It swept like
a wave towards the building, drowning the roar of the stream below. The
girl at the table rose and went to the closed door. She gripped a
revolver in her right hand. With her left she reached for the latch.

"Don't open it!" gasped Adela.

But Dot paid no heed. She lifted the latch and flung wide the door. Her
slim figure stood outlined against the lamp-light behind her. Before her
in a white glare of moonlight lay the vault-like entrance of the mine at
the head of Barren Valley, and surging along the black, scarred side of
the hill there came a yelling crowd of miners. They were making straight
for the open door, but at the sight of the girl standing there they
checked momentarily and the shouting died down.

She faced the foremost of them without a tremor. "What is it?" she
demanded, in a clear, ringing voice. "What are you wanting?"

A man with the shaggy face of a baboon answered her. "You've got that
blasted policeman in there. You stick up that gun of yours and let us
pass! We've got guns of our own, so that won't help."

She confronted him with scorn. "Do you imagine I'm afraid of you and your
guns? There's no one here except another woman. Are you out to fight
women to-night?"

"That's a lie!" he made prompt response. "You've got Fletcher Hill in
there, or I'm a nigger. You let us pass!"

But still she blocked the way, her re