Beth Norvell

He turned away from his partner, facing once again toward the

"Independence." Then he readjusted the tubes, and passed them over to

his silent companion.

"Just see what you make out o' it, Mr. Winston; ye 're some younger,

an' yer eyes ought ter be a heap better 'n mine."

The young engineer, his heart already beginning to throb with the

excitement of an unaccustomed position of danger, ran the lenses

carefully back and forth from the half-concealed bunk-house to the

nearer ore-dump, searching for every sign of life. Whatever emotion

swayed him, there was not the slightest tremor to the steady hands

supporting the levelled tubes.

"They have certainly got together a considerable number of men," he

reported, the glass still at his eyes. "Roughs the most of them look

to be, from their clothes. The largest number are grouped in between

the shaft-house and the dump, but there must be a dozen or fifteen down

below at the edge of those cedars. Farnham is at the shaft-house--no,

he and another fellow have just started down the dump, walking this

way. Now they have gone into the cedars, and are coming straight

through. What's up, do you suppose--negotiations?"

"I 'm damned if I know," returned the old miner, staring blankly.

"This whole thing kinder jiggers me. Maybe he thinks he kin skeer us

out by a good brand o' talk. He 's a bit o' a bluffer, that Farnham."

The two watchers waited in breathless expectancy, leaning on their

loaded Winchesters, their eyes eagerly fastened on the concealing

cedars. Behind where they remained in the open, yet within easy

rifle-shot, the heads of Brown and Old Mike rose cautiously above the

rock rampart of their natural fort. Suddenly two men, walking abreast,

emerged from out the shadow of the wood, and came straight toward them

across the open ridge of rocks. They advanced carelessly, making no

effort to pick their path, and in apparently utter indifference to any

possible peril. The one was Farnham, his slender form erect, his

shoulders squared, his hat pushed jauntily back so as to reveal fully

the smoothly shaven face. The other bent slightly forward as he

walked, his wide brim drawn low over his eyes, leaving little visible

except the point of a closely trimmed beard. He was heavily built, and

a "45" dangled conspicuously at his hip. If Farnham bore arms they

were concealed beneath the skirt of his coat. Watching them approach,

Winston's eyes became threatening, his hands involuntarily clinching,

but Hicks remained motionless, his lean jaws continuously munching on

the tobacco in his cheek.

"Who the hell is that with him?" he questioned, wonderingly. "Do you

know the feller?"

Winston shook his head, his own steady gaze riveted upon Farnham.

Deliberately the two climbed the low ore-dump side by side, and came

forth on top into the full glare of the sun. Hicks's Winchester sank

to a level, his wicked old eye peering along the polished barrel.