Winston sprang to his feet and ran back along the deserted tunnel,

bending low to avoid collision with the sloping roof, striving to move

rapidly, yet in silence. The intense darkness blinded him, but one

hand touching the wall acted as safeguard. For a moment the

bewildering surprise of this new situation left his brain in a whirl of

uncertainty. He could remember no spot in which he might hope to

secrete himself safely; the rock wall of that narrow passageway

afforded no possible concealment against the reflection of the

foreman's glaring lamp. But he must get beyond sight and sound of

those others before the inevitable meeting and the probable struggle

occurred. This became the one insistent thought which sent him

scurrying back into the gloom, recklessly accepting every chance of

encountering obstacles in his haste. At the second curve he paused,

panting heavily from the excitement of his hard run, and leaned against

the face of the rock, peering anxiously back toward that fast

approaching flicker of light. The angry foreman came crunching

savagely along, his heavy boots resounding upon the hard floor, the

hickory club in his hand occasionally striking against the wall as

though he imagined himself already belaboring the recreant Swanson.

About him, causing his figure to appear gigantic, his shadow grotesque,

the yellow gleam of the light shone in spectral coloring. Winston set

his teeth determinedly, and noiselessly cocked his revolver. The man

was already almost upon him, a black, shapeless bulk, like some unreal

shadow. Then the younger stepped suddenly forth into the open, the two

meeting face to face. The startled foreman stared incredulous, bending

forward as though a ghost confronted him, his teeth showing between

parted lips.

"Drop that club!" commanded Winston coldly, the gleam of an uplifted

steel barrel in the other's eyes. "Lively, my man; this is a

hair-trigger."

"What the hell--"

"Drop that club! We 'll discuss this case later. There--no, up with

your hands; both of them. Turn around slowly; ah, I see you don 't

tote a gun down here. So much the better, for now we can get along to

business with fewer preliminaries."

He kicked the released pick-helve to one side out of sight in the

darkness, his watchful eyes never straying from the Irishman's face.

Burke stood sputtering curses, his hands held high, his fighting face

red from impotent passion. The trembling light gave to the scene a

fantastic effect, grimly humorous.

"Who--who the divil be ye?" The surprised man thrust his head yet

farther forward in an effort to make the flame more clearly reveal the

other's features. Winston drew the peak of his miner's cap lower.

"That will make very little difference to you, Jack Burke," he said

quietly, "if I have any occasion to turn loose this arsenal. However,

stand quiet, and it will afford me pleasure to give you all necessary

information. Let us suppose, for instance, that I am a person to whom

Biff Farnham desires to sell some stock in this mine; becoming

interested, I seek to discover its real value for myself, and come down

with the night shift. Quite a natural proceeding on my part, is n't

it? Now, under such circumstances, I presume you, as foreman, would be

perfectly willing to show me exactly what is being accomplished down

here?"




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