emory of that terribly
burned victim of the fire was still there, and he seemed to see her
lying, scorched and unconscious, on the white counterpane.

"His nose is busted, I think," his partner said to The Lily, whose
only comment was an abrupt exclamation: "What a shame! The cowards!"

He turned to the woman with his set face, and, still speaking in that
calm, deadly voice, said: "Do you happen to have your gun up here?"

Her eyes opened wider, and Dick was about to interpose, when she
answered understandingly: "Yes; but I'll not give it to you, Bill
Mathews."

"I'm sorry," he said, as quietly as if his request or her refusal had
been mere desultory conversation. "I might need one in a pinch; but
if you can't spare it, I reckon the boy and me can do what we have to
do without one."

He turned and walked from the room and Dick followed, hoping to argue
him from that dangerous mood.

"Say, Bill," he said, "isn't it about bad enough without any more
trouble?"

"What? You don't mean to say you're not with me?" exclaimed the miner,
suddenly turning on him and stopping abruptly in the street. "Are you
for lettin' 'em get away with it? Of course you ain't! You always
stick. Come on."

They saw that the lights in the miners' hall were out, and began a
steady tour of the saloons in the vicinity. One of their own men was
in one of them--Smuts, the blacksmith, cursing loudly and volubly as
they entered.

"Them boys has always treated us white clean through," he bawled,
banging his fist on the bar, "and a lot of you pikers that don't know
nothin' about the case sit around like a lot of yaps and let this
Denver bunch pack the meetin' and declare a strike. Then you let the
same Denver bunch jump on poor old Bells, and hammer him to a pulp
after they've hustled him out of the door, instead of follerin' out to
see that he don't get the worst of it. Bah! I'm dead sick of you."

The partners had paused while listening to him, and he now saw them.

"Come out here, Smuts," Dick said, turning toward the door, and the
smith followed them.

"So they've ordered a strike on us, have they?" Dick asked.

"Yes," was the blacksmith's heated response; "but it don't go for me!
I stick."

"Then if you're with us, where is that Denver bunch?" Bill asked; and
Dick knew that any effort to deter his partner from his purpose would
prove useless.

"They all went down to the High Light," the smith answered. "Have you
seen Bells?"

"Ye