glow. She might never hear of it, but Casey liked to feel that he
was doing something that would please the Little Woman.

For the first few days after Casey was installed as cook, one of the
three remained always with him, making it plain that he was under
guard. Two were always busy elsewhere. Casey saw that he was expected
to believe that they were at work in the tunnel, driving it in to a
certain contact of which they spoke frequently and at length.

At supper they would mention their footage for that day's work, and
Casey would hide a grin of derision. Casey knew rock as he knew bacon
and beans and his sour-dough can. To make the footage they claimed to
be making in that tunnel, they would need to shoot twice a day, with a
round of, say, five holes to a shot.

As a matter of fact, two holes a day, one shot at noon and one at
night, were the most Casey ever heard fired in the tunnel or elsewhere
about the mine. But he did not tell them any of the things he thought;
not even Joe, who had intelligence far above Paw and Hank, ever guessed
that Casey listened every day for their shots and could tell, almost to
an inch what progress they were actually making in the tunnel. Nor did
he guess that Casey Ryan with his mouth shut was more unsafe than
"giant powder" laid out in the sun until it sweated destruction.

Persistent effort, directed by an idea based solely upon an abstract
theory, must be driven by a trained intelligence. In this case the
abstract theory that every prisoner must be watched must support itself
unaided by Casey's behavior. Not even Joe's intelligence was trained
to a degree where the theory in itself was sufficient to hold him to
the continuous effort of watching Casey.

Wherefore Paw, Hank and Joe presently slipped into the habit of leaving
Casey alone for an hour or so; being careful to keep the guns out of
his reach, and returning to the dugout at unexpected intervals to make
sure that all was well.

Casey Ryan knew his pots and pans, and how to make them fill his days
if need be. With savory suppers and his care-free, Casey Ryan grin, he
presently lulled them into accepting him as a handy man around camp,
and into forgetting that he was at least a potential enemy. Afoot and
alone in that unfriendly land, with his left hand smashed and carried
in a sling, and on his tongue an Irish joke that implied content with
his captivity, Casey Ryan would not have looked dangerous to more
int