e shivered at the roar of the explosion that followed; he even
drew a gruesome picture of stretchers and mangled flesh that brought a
groan out of him.

But in spite of his mental stress he lunged forward, boldly, though his
breath wheezed from his lungs in great gasps. His body lagged, but his
will was indomitable, once he quit looking at the pictures of his
imagination. He was at the door of the shed in a dozen strides.

The lock had been forced; the hasp was hanging, suspended from a twisted
staple. Carson had no pistol--it would have been useless, anyway.

Carson hesitated, vacillating between two courses. Should he return for
help, or should he secrete himself somewhere and watch? The utter
foolhardiness of attempting the capture of the prowler single handed
assailed him, and he decided on retreat. He took one step, and then stood
rigid in his tracks, for a voice filtered thinly through the doorway,
hoarse, vibrant:

"Don't forget the fuses."

Carson's lips formed the word: "Trevison!"

Carson's breath came easier; his thoughts became more coherent, his
recollection vivid; his sympathies leaped like living things. When his
thoughts dwelt upon the scene at the butte during Trevison's visit while
the mining machinery was being erected--the trap that Corrigan had
prepared for the man--a grim smile wreathed his face, for he strongly
suspected what was meant by Trevison's visit to the dynamite shed.

He slipped cautiously around a corner of the shed, making no sound in the
deep dust surrounding it, and stole back the way he had come, tingling.

"Begob, I'll slape now--a little while!"

As Carson vanished down the tracks a head was stuck out through the
doorway of the shed and turned so that its owner could scan his
surroundings.

"All clear," he whispered.

"Get going, then," said another voice, and two men, their faces muffled
with handkerchiefs, bearing something that bulked their pockets oddly,
slipped out of the door and fled noiselessly, like gliding shadows, down
the track toward the cut.

* * * * *

Rosalind had been asleep in the rocker. A cool night breeze, laden with
the strong, pungent aroma of sage, sent a shiver over her and she awoke,
to see that the lights of Manti had vanished. An eerie lonesomeness had
settled around her.

"Why, it must be nearly midnight!" she said. She got up, yawning, and
stepped toward the door, wondering why Agatha had not