with the distance. He had small hope of seeing Barney. After that
last leaden bee had buzzed through his hat crown, you would have to dig
faster than Barney if you wanted a look at him. Casey grinned when he
thought of it.

When he had gotten his breath and had scraped some loose dirt out of
his shirt collar, Casey crouched down behind a juniper and examined his
surroundings carefully, his pale, straight-lidded eyes moving slowly as
the white, pointing finger of a searchlight while he took in every
small detail within view. Midway in the arc of his vision was a ledge,
ending in a flat-topped boulder.

The ledge blocked his view, except that he could see trees and a higher
peak of rocks beyond it. He made his way cautiously toward the ledge,
his eyes fixed upon the boulder. A huge, sloping slab of the granite
outcropping it seemed, scaly with gray-green fungus in the cracks where
moisture longest remained; granite ledge banked with low junipers
warped and stunted and tangled with sage. The longer Casey looked at
the boulder, the less he saw that seemed unnatural in a country filled
with boulders and outcroppings and stunted vegetation.

But the longer he looked at it, the stronger grew his animal instinct
that something was wrong. He waited for a time--a long time indeed for
Casey Ryan to wait. There was no stir anywhere save the sweep of the
wind blowing steadily from the west.

He crept forward, halting often, eyeing the boulder and its neighboring
ledge, distrust growing within him, though he saw nothing, heard
nothing but the wind sweeping through branches and bush. Casey Ryan
was never frightened in his life. But he was Irish born--and there's
something in Irish blood that will not out; something that goes beyond
reason into the world of unknown wisdom.

It's a tricksy world, that realm of intuitions. For this is what
befell Casey Ryan, and you may account for it as best pleases you.

He circled the rock as a wolf will circle a coiled rattler which it
does not see. Beyond the rock, built close against it so that the rear
wall must have been the face of the ledge, a little rock cabin squatted
secretively. One small window, with two panes of glass was set high
under the eaves on the side toward Casey. Cleverly concealed it was,
built to resemble the ledge. Visible from one side only, and that was
the side where Casey stood. At the back the sloping boulder, untouched,
impregnable; at the north and