This settled, Max and Sandy returned to their mining, while Len and Morris lay down behind the newly-strengthened breastwork. The elder man filled his pipe and stretched himself in the sunshine, while Len brought out one of the few books they had and read the stirring story of the robber Doones, and the giant farmer who got his sweetheart from among them by such a pleasant mixture of strategy and strength.

Morris was interested, but his position was easy, the pipe was soothing, the sun was warm, and Len’s steady tones were slumberous in their influence. The reader, therefore, presently found his listener asleep, in spite of his interest and his resolution. Seeing this he shut the book, and fell into a{154} reverie over the strange series of circumstances that had brought him to this remote spot and outlandish surroundings, how—Crack—ping!

Morris was wide-awake. Len’s dreams had vanished. Both men were on their knees behind the breastwork, guns in hand and every sense alert.

On the opposite dump they saw all three of the jumpers sitting with guns by their sides. They were gesticulating toward the smooth, whitish panel on the cliff walk which showed where the dyke had been cut through by the ice and floods that in ages past had carved this channel in the mountain side; they seemed to be paying no attention to the Last Chance people, but were pointing as though at a target, on the face of the cliff. After a short time Scotty raised his rifle and took steady aim, apparently at the target previously pointed out. The report of his gun was followed by the sharp click of the ball against the porphyry wall, and then by{155} its rattling among the rock on the slope of the dump in front of our sentinel friends.

“What do you suppose they’re shooting at?” muttered Len, straining his eyes to find some mark.

Morris did not reply. He was watching the enemy going through another pantomime, which looked as though Bob was explaining something wrong in the shot. This was speedily concluded by Scotty’s moving his position and aiming a third time at the face of the cliff, sighting at a little different angle than before.

Crack!—ping! went the report, and almost at the same instant a spruce log which lay just in front of Morris’s face jarred under the blow of a half-ounce of lead, which sank deeply into its tough core.

“Great Harry!” shouted the incensed miner. “They’re caroming on us!”

And before Len could interfere, Morris rose on one knee, brought his rifle to bear on the gambler, and pulled the trigger.{156}

Scotty’s hat flew off, and he tumbled over, while Bob and Stephens let loose a volley, which rattled harmlessly against the breastwork.

But Morris’s snap shot had not gone quite true, for Scotty picked himself up almost instantly and scrambled out of range, followed by his two companions.

This firing had brought Sandy and Max to the door of the mine with anxious faces, and you may believe they were not only enraged, but made very solicitous by the incident.

“It’s clear,” remarked Max, “that they mean to kill us if they can do so without open-handed murder. Of course they intended those balls to glance and hurt somebody.”

“I meant mine to, anyhow!” exclaimed Morris.

“I am glad you fired; it’ll teach those scoundrels that we are wide-awake. But do you not think they knew you!”

“No, they couldn’t see well enough. I was kneeling behind the wall.”{157}

“There is a’ the mair necessity, Mr. Bushwick,” remarked Sandy, “why you should go to town to-night.”

“I feel it strongly, and Morris and I’ll get away as soon as it is dark. You fellows have worked enough to-day, haven’t you? Suppose you stay out now.”

“All right; we will. We’ve got a fair sort of a hole in there, anyhow. It’s pretty deep, and a man can walk upright all the way except in one or two places.”

They saw no more of the enemy that day, however, and Sandy occupied himself by cooking an extra good supper.

By seven o’clock that evening a deep gloom filled the gulch, and was scarcely less heavy on the cliffs, for thick clouds stretched like a canopy from peak to peak.

The only means by which the jumpers could get away from their camp was by the trail down the ca?on, along which, during daylight, any one would be exposed for some distance to the fire of our friends in the garrison.{158}

From the Last Chance, however, a man might easily ascend, as we know, and then, by care and trouble, he could pass along ledges above the Aurora, to where, some distance beyond, a crevice enabled him to clamber down to the bottom of the gulch, a few hundred yards below where the trail crossed the creek.

This is what Morris and Len did, as soon as the shadows of the range enveloped them in its curtaining gloom. When they had made their way far enough, they crept to the edge of the cliff, and could see the jumpers eating their supper around their fire on the safe side of the dump. A horse was hitched near by, and Old Bob was saddling him.

“You are right,” Lennox whispered. “He’s going to town to-night, and is most ready to start. We’d better hurry up, if you want to get into ambush ahead of him.”

Moving as quietly as possible, they hastened to where the shelving of the cliff let them get down to the bed of the creek.
[Image unavailable.]

A SHORT CUT.

Silver Caves, Page 159.

{159}

Just as they reached this point, where they most needed the light to aid them, a fierce squall swept down upon the groaning and cracking branches of the spruce fringing the border of the crags, the air became suddenly colder, and whirling volleys of snowflakes were dashed in the faces of the wanderers.

“This is bad!” growled Morris. “’Taint none too easy a job to crawl down here in daylight, let alone trying to do it............