ight
as well have saved his breath, for his captors paid not the least
attention to his spleen.

Weak as a drowned rat, Doble came limping out of the ravine. He sat down
on a timber, very sick at the stomach from too much water swallowed in
haste. After he had relieved himself, he looked up wanly and recognized
Hart, who was searching him for a hidden six-shooter.

"Must 'a' lost yore forty-five whilst you was in swimmin', Dug. Was the
water good this evenin'? I'll bet you and yore lads pulled off a lot o'
fancy stunts when the water come down from Lodore or wherever they had it
corralled." Dancing imps of mischief lit the eyes of the ex-cowpuncher.
"Well, I'll bet the boys in town get a great laugh at yore comedy stuff.
You ce'tainly did a good turn. Oh, you've sure earned yore laugh."

If hatred could have killed with a look Bob would have been a dead man.
"You blew up the dam," charged Doble.

"Me! Why, it ain't my dam. Didn't Brad give you orders to open the
sluices to make you a swimmin' hole?"

The searchers began to straggle in, bringing with them a sadly drenched
and battered lot of gunmen. Not one but looked as though he had been
through the wars. An inventory of wounds showed a sprained ankle, a
broken shoulder blade, a cut head, and various other minor wounds. Nearly
every member of Doble's army was exceedingly nauseated. The men sat down
or leaned up against the wreckage of the plant and drooped wretchedly.
There was not an ounce of fight left in any of them.

"They must 'a' blew the dam up. Them shots we heard!" one ventured
without spirit.

"Who blew it up?" demanded one of the Jackpot men belligerently. "If you
say we did, you're a liar."

He was speaking the truth so far as he knew. The man who had been through
the waters did not take up the challenge. Officers in the army say that
men will not fight on an empty stomach, and his was very empty.

"I'll remember this, Hart," Doble said, and his face was a thing ill to
look upon. The lips were drawn back so that his big teeth were bared like
tusks. The eyes were yellow with malignity.

"Y'betcha! The boys'll look after that, Dug," retorted Bob lightly.
"Every time you hook yore heel over the bar rail at the Gusher, you'll
know they're laughin' at you up their sleeves. Sure, you'll remember
it."

"Some day I'll make yore whole damned outfit sorry for this," the big
hook-nosed man threatened blackly. "No livin' man can laugh at me and get
away w