Fay, with a slight shrug of contempt at such womanish weakness, ran to

his assistance. He straightened the Easterner out and placed his folded

coat under his head. "He'll come around in a minute," he muttered. He

glanced toward the gulch and then back to the shaft. "Can't leave that

lay-out," he went on. He bent over the prostrate figure and began to

loosen the band of his shirt. Something about the boy's clothing

attracted his attention, so, drawing his knife, he deftly and gently

ripped away the coat and shirt. Then he arose softly to his feet and

bared his head.

"I apologize to you," said he, addressing the recumbent form; "you are

game."

In the fleshy part of the naked shoulder was a small round hole,

clotted and smeared with blood.

Jim Fay stooped and examined the wound closely. The bullet had entered

near the point of the shoulder, but a little below, so that it had

merely cut a secant through the curve of the muscle. If it had struck a

quarter of an inch to the left it would have gouged a furrow; a quarter

of an inch beyond that would have caused it to miss entirely. Fay saw

that the hurt itself was slight, and that the Easterner had fainted

more because of loss of blood than from the shock. This determined to

his satisfaction, he moved quickly to the mouth of the shaft. "Way

below!" he cried in a sharp voice, and discharged his revolver twice

down the opening. Then he stole noiselessly away, and ran at speed to

the kitchen of the shack, whence he immediately returned with a pail of

water and a number of towels. He set these down, and again peered down

the shaft. "Way below!" he repeated, and dropped down a sizable chunk

of ore. Apparently satisfied that the prisoners were well warned, he

gave his whole attention to his patient.

He washed the wound carefully. Then he made a compress of one of the

towels, and bound it with the other two. Looking up, he discovered

Bennington watching him intently.

"It's all right!" he assured the latter in answer to the question in

his eyes. "Nothing but a scratch. Lie still a minute till I get this

fastened, and you can sit up and watch the rat hole while I get you

some clothes."

In another moment or so the young man was propped up against an empty

ore "bucket," his shoulder bound, and his hand slung comfortably in a

sling from his neck.

"There you are," said Jim cheerily. "Now you take my six-shooter and

watch that aggregation till I get back. They won't come out any, but

you may as well be sure."

He handed Bennington his revolver, and moved off in the direction of

the cabin, whistling cheerfully. The young man looked after him

thoughtfully. Nothing could have been more considerate than the

Westerner's manner, nothing could have been kinder than his prompt

action--Bennington saw that his pony, now cropping the brush near at

hand, was black with sweat--nothing could have been more

straightforward than his assistance in the matter of the claims. And

yet Bennington de Laney was not satisfied. He felt he owed the sudden

change of front to a word spoken in his behalf by the girl. This was a

strange influence she possessed, thus to alter a man's attitude

entirely by the mere voicing of a wish.




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