ack
and forth and staring at a wall that had no visible opening save one
small window to let in the light of outdoors. Prisoner she must
be--though why, Casey could only guess.

Perhaps she was some desert woman, the widow of some miner who had been
shot as these three had tried to shoot him and Barney Oakes. Mean,
malevolent as they were, they would still lack the brutishness
necessary to shoot an old woman. So they had shut her up there in the
rock hut, not daring to take her back to civilization where she would
tell of the crime. It was all plain enough to Casey. The story of the
crippled miner made him curl his lip contemptuously when his back was
safely turned from Joe.

That day Casey thought much of the old woman in the hut, and of Paw's
worse than inferior cooking. Though he did not realize the change in
himself, six months of close companionship with the Little Woman had
changed Casey Ryan considerably. Time was when even his
soft-heartedness would not have impelled him to patient scheming that
he might help an old woman whose sole claim upon his sympathy consisted
of four rock walls and a look of calm despair in her eyes. Now, Casey
was thinking and planning for the old woman more than for himself.

Wherefore, Casey chose the time when he was "putting in an upper"
(which is miner's parlance for drilling a hole in the upper face of the
tunnel). He gritted his teeth when he swung back the single-jack and
landed a glancing blow on the knuckles of his left hand instead of the
drill end. No man save Casey Ryan or a surgeon could have told
positively whether the metacarpal bones were broken or whether the hand
was merely skinned and bruised.

Joe came up, regarded the bleeding hand sourly, led Casey out to the
dugout and bandaged the hand for him. There would be no more tunnel
work for Casey until the hand had healed; that was accepted without
comment.

That night Casey proved to Paw that, with one hand in a sling much
resembling Joe's, he could nevertheless cook a meal that made eating a
pleasure to look forward to. After that the old woman in the little
stone hut had pudding, sometimes, and cake made without eggs, and pie;
and the potatoes were mashed or baked instead of plain boiled. Casey
had the satisfaction of seeing the dishes return empty to the dugout,
and know that he was permitted to add something to her comfort and
well-being. The Little Woman would be glad of that, Casey thought with
a