of Joe's suspicious gaze from the lower bunk, and of the close presence
of Joe's six-shooter eyeing him balefully from underneath the top
blanket. Hank, too, was watchful as a coyote, which he much resembled,
in Casey's opinion. But Casey did not mind trifles of that kind, once
his mind was at ease about the breakfast and he was free to slice bacon
the right thickness, and mix the hot-cake batter himself. For the first
time in many weeks he sang--if you could call it singing--over his work.

When Casey Ryan sings over a breakfast fire, you may expect the bacon
fried exactly right. You may be sure the hot-cakes will be browned
correctly with no uncooked dough inside, and that the coffee will give
you heart for whatever hardship the day may hold.

Even Paw's surliness lightened a bit by the time he had speared his
tenth cake and walloped it in the bacon grease before sprinkling it
thick with sugar and settling the eleventh cake on top. Casey was
eyeing the fourteenth cake on Hank's plate when Joe looked up at him
over a loaded fork.

"Save out enough dough for three good uns," Joe ordered, "an' fill that
little coffee pot an' set it to keep hot, before Hank hogs the hull
thing. Dad, seems like you're, too busy t' think uh some things Mart
wouldn't want forgot." Paw looked quickly at Casey; but Casey Ryan had
played poker all his life, and his weathered face showed no expression
beyond a momentary interest, which was natural.

"Other feller hurt bad?" he inquired carelessly, looking at Joe's
bandaged hand. He almost grinned when he saw the relieved glances
exchanged between Joe and Paw.

"Leg broke," Joe mumbled over a mouthful. "Dad, he set it an' it's
doin' all right. He's up in another cabin." Through Hank's brainless
titter, Joe added carefully, "Bad ground in the first right-hand drift.
We had to abandon it. Rocks big as your head comin' in on yuh
onexpected. None uh them right-hand drifts is safe fer a man t' walk
in, much less work."

Thereupon Casey related a thrilling story of a cave-in, and assured Joe
that he and his partner were lucky to get off with mere broken bones.
Casey, you will observe, was running contrary to his nature and leaning
to diplomacy.

For himself, I am sure he would never have troubled to placate them. He
would have taken the first slim chance that offered--or made one--and
fought the three to a finish.

But there was the old woman in the rock hut above them, rocking b