eep in the cavern. As a matter of fact I
shall be sleeping placidly under the stars, quite out of reach of the
main disaster. Your first shot will awaken me. Now, it is by no means
certain that your first shot will send off the dynamite. You may have to
fire half a dozen times, and your best rifle is an old breech-loader. I
use smokeless powder, and you don't. I could pepper away at you for half
an hour and you'd never know where the bullets were coming from. The
smoke from your rifle would give _you_ away at once. When I fire at you
next time, Jim, I shall aim at a more vital point, because, my dear boy,
the person who sets off that dynamite is a murderer. So before you put
your plan into operation, just consult your comrades and explain to them
its disadvantages."

Dean stood there meditating for a few moments before he spoke.

"I'm very much obliged to you," he said at last, "for telling me what
you mean to do. We'll change that plan a little, and come out of the
bunk house together. We'll search the country for you, and so won't need
to blow up the mine."

"That's a much more humane expedient, and will prevent unnecessary loss
of life. I shall be lying quiet under whatever cover I can find. Your
crowd will perambulate the locality, and I may remind you that you are
no lightfooted Cinderellas. A herd of elephants would make less noise. I
shall see you long before you see me, and I leave the result to your own
imagination. And now, Jimmy, take the advice of a true friend. Your time
to act was when you were snoring at that door and I was climbing the
chimney. Once you allowed me to get my rifle, you had permitted
opportunity to pass you, because I am a good shot, and I came West in
order to shoot. When a person accustomed to downy beds of ease slumbers
peacefully, as I did this morning, on hard and jagged rocks thinly
disguised by a blanket, with my right ear against a dynamite cartridge,
there's nothing the matter with his nerves, is there?"

"No; there isn't," said Dean, with conviction.

"Now, what you chaps want is not a battle, but an armistice. Leave well
enough alone, I say, and accept the _status quo_. If you remain in the
bunk house, you are as safe as in a Presbyterian church."

Jim did not reply, but deliberated, his open palm against his bandaged
ear.

"Hurt?" asked Stranleigh.

"Yes, it does," admitted Jim, ruefully.

"Well, my shoulder hurt a good deal after you fired at me. Now, I'll
tell you