the Trust. The moment his back was turned they shed
the story broadcast, each man competing with the other in his endeavor
to make it thoroughly palatable to the sensation-loving ears of their
fellow-townsmen. And probably of them all Sandy was the most
successful.

In half-an-hour, loyally supported by his friends, he had the whole of
Suffering Creek strung to such a pitch of nervous excitement that
every man was set looking to his firearms, and all talk was directed
towards the most adequate means of defending their homes and
property.

In the briefest possible time, from a peaceful, industrious camp,
Suffering Creek was transformed into a war base, every citizen stirred
not only to defense of his own, but with a longing to march out to the
fray, to seek these land pirates in the open and to exterminate them,
as they would willingly exterminate any other vermin.

Men talked war. Brains were feverishly racked for strategy, and for
historical accounts of a similar situation in which a town rose to
arms and took the law into its own hands. Stories flew from lip to
lip, and, as is usual under such stress, so did the convivial glass.

And the result which followed was quite in keeping with the occasion.
Quarrels and bickerings occurred, which kept the place at fever-heat
until the store closed down for the night and the supply of liquor was
cut off. Then slumber brought its beneficent opiate to distracted
nerves.

Throughout it all Minky kept his head level. Whatever he felt and
thought, he had nothing to offer on the altar of public suggestion. He
knew that of all these irresponsible debaters he had the most to lose.
Nor did he feel inclined to expose anything of the risk at which he
stood. It was a depressing time for him, so depressing that he could
see very little hope. His risk was enormous. He felt that the
probability was that this raiding gang were well enough posted as to
the store of gold he held in his cellars. He felt that, should James
or any of his people decide upon a coup, the attack would be well
timed, when the miners were out at their work, and he and the camp
generally were left defenseless.

What could he do? He must rid himself of the "dust" somehow. He must
dispose of it secretly. A hiding--that seemed to him, amidst his
trouble, to be the only thing. But where? That was the thing. He must
consult Bill. To his mind Bill was the only man upon whom he could
place any real reliance, upon whose j