shrank from
the flame of his wrath like beaten dogs.

"And before we deal with him," he went on, "there's someone else to be
reckoned with. And that's Harley. Does anyone know where Harley is?"

"What do you want with Harley?" asked Benson, glad of this diversion.

"Oh, just to tell him what I think of him, and then--to kick him out!"
With curt contempt Warden threw his answer. "He's a traitor and a
skunk--smuggles spirits one minute and goes to the police to sell his
chums the next; then back to his chums again to sell the police. I know.
I've been watching him for some time, the cur. He'd shoot me if he
dared."

"He'd better!" yelled a huge miner in the middle of the crowd.

Warden laughed. "That you, Nixon? Come over here! I've got something to
tell you--and the other boys. It's the story of this blasted mine." He
turned suddenly to the girl who still stood behind him in the lighted
doorway. "Miss Burton, I'd like you to hear it too. Shut the door and
stand by me!"

Her shining eyes were on his face. She obeyed him mutely, with a
submission as unquestioning as that of the rough crowd in front of them.

Very gently he took the revolver from her, drew one out of his own pocket
also, and handed both to the big man called Nixon who had come to his
side.

"You look after these!" he said.

"One is my property. The other belongs to Fletcher Hill--who is my
prisoner. Now, boys, you're armed. I'm not. You won't shoot the lady, I
know. And for myself I'll take my chance."

"Guess you won't be any the worse for that," grinned Nixon, at his elbow.

Warden's smile gleamed for an instant in answer, but he passed swiftly
on. "Did you ever hear of a cattle-thief called Buckskin Bill? He
flourished in these parts some five years ago. There was no mine in
Barren Valley then. It was just--a smugglers' stronghold."

Some of the men in front of him stirred uneasily. "What's this to do with
Fletcher Hill?" asked one.

"I'll tell you," said Warden. "Buckskin Bill, the cattle-thief, was in a
tight corner, and he took refuge in Barren Valley. He found the
smugglers' _cache_--and he found something else that the smugglers didn't
know of. He found--gold. It's a queer thing, boys, but he'd decided--for
private reasons--to give up the cattle-lifting just two days before. The
police were hot after him, but they didn't catch him and the smugglers
didn't catch him either. He dodged 'em all, and when he left he said to
himself, 'I'll