pickle, don't ye? Wal, I don't know 'bout that. Yer see, me
an' Stutter have bin sort o' lookin' fer somethin' like this ter occur
fer a long time, an' we 've consequently got it figgered out ter a
purty fine p'int. When Farnham an' his crowd come moseying up yere,
they ain't goin' ter have it all their own way, let me tell yer,
pardner. Do yer see that straight face o' rock over yonder?" he rose
to his feet, pointing across his shoulder. "Wal, that 's got a front
o' thirty feet, an' slopes back 'bout as fur, with a shelf hangin' over
it like a roof. Best nat'ral fort ever I see, an' only one way o'
gittin' inter it, an' that the devil o' a crooked climb. Wal, we 've
stocked that place fer a siege with chuck an' ammunition, an' I reckon
four men kin 'bout hold it agin the whole county till hell freezes
over. It's in easy rifle shot o' both ther cabin an' ther shaft, an'
that Biff Farnham is mighty liable ter git another shock when he comes
traipsin' up yere fer ter wipe out ther 'Little Yankee.' Ol' Bill
Hicks ain't bin prospectin' fer thirty years, an' holdin' down claims
with a gun, without learnin' somethin' about ther business. I 'm ready
to buck this yere Farnham at any game he wants ter play; damned if he
can't take his chice, law er rifles, an' I 'll give him a bellyful
either way."

No one spoke for a long while, the three men apparently occupied with
their own thoughts. To Winston it was a tragedy, picturesque, heroic,
the wild mountain setting furnishing a strange dignity. Brown finally
cleared his throat, preparing to speak, his great hand slowly rubbing
his chin.

"I-I sorter w-w-wish them w-wimmen wan't y-yere," he stuttered,
doubtfully.

The engineer glanced up in sudden astonishment.

"Women!" he exclaimed. "Do you mean to say you have women with you?"

Hicks chuckled behind his beard.

"Shore we have thet--all ther comforts o' home. Nice place fer a
picnic, ain't it? But I reckon as how them gals will have ter take
pot-luck with the rest o' us. Leastways, I don't see no chance now ter
get shuck o' 'em. I 'll tell ye how it happened, Mr. Winston; it 'd
take Stutter, yere, too blame long ter relate ther story, only I hope
he won't fly off an' git mad if I chance ter make mention o' his gal
'long with the other. He 's gittin' most damn touchy, is Stutter, an'
I 'm all a-tremble fer fear he 'll blow a hole cl'ar through me. It's
hell, love is, whin it gits a good hol' on a damn foo