whether
there was anything more he needed to stand a siege.

Bright as was the moonlight outside, the cavern was pitch dark, so
Stranleigh determined on another expedition to the house, and he brought
back a bunch of candles and an armful of bedclothes.

"Now for the night's work," he said to himself, and having lit a candle,
which he placed at the remote end of the cave, he began picking up
stones, and with them building a wall across the mouth of the pit. No
Roman wall was ever built with such care, and no Roman wall ever
contained within itself such possibilities of wholesale obliteration,
because the structure was intersticed with sticks of dynamite, which
Stranleigh carried with the most cautious tenderness from the rear to
the front of the cavern. When his task was completed the moon had gone
down, and the misty, luminous grey of the eastern sky betokened the
approach of dawn. The young man was thoroughly tired, and with a sigh of
relief he stretched himself out on the bedclothes he had brought from
the house.

The early sun shining on his face awakened him. He knew from experience
that the bunk house men were not afflicted with the vice of early
rising. There was no aperture in their habitation, unless the door was
open, through which the sun might shine upon them. He was therefore not
surprised that no one was visible anywhere near the sleeping quarters.
So he breakfasted in peace, alternating slices of bread with slices of
ham, thus constructing some admirable sandwiches.

A providential jug, which doubtless in its time had contained whisky,
was one of the utensils left when the mine was abandoned. Stranleigh
took this, and stepping over the dangerous wall, filled it three or four
times at the rushing cataract, rinsing out all indication of its former
use. He brought it back, filled with very clear and cold water. He could
not help thinking as he returned what an excellent place the waterfall
would be for the washing of dishes, if a person ran the risk of standing
upon spray-drenched, slippery rock ledges.

Stranleigh sat down where he could see the enemy's quarters, and
carefully examined his rifle, assured himself that the magazine was
full, then with the weapon over his knees in the fashion adopted by his
recent gaolers, watched the bunk house patiently, wishing he had a
morning paper to while away the time.

The laggard sentinel was the first to rouse himself. The broad door
opened, and Jim Dean, pa