n the sand...."

"Well?" questioned Rawson, as Smithy paused. His look was daring
Smithy to say what he knew was coming.

"Five tons of steel beams," said Smithy softly, "gone--just like that!
Just a hollow in the sand!"

* * * * *

The big figure of the Irish foreman was still beside the door. Rawson
saw one clumsy hand make the sign of the Cross; then Riley held that
hand before him and stared at it in horror. "Divils' blood," he
whispered. "And I dipped my hands in it. Saints protect us all!"

"That will be all of that!" Dean Rawson's usually quiet voice was as
full of crackling emphasis as if it had been charged with electrical
energy. "If anyone thinks that I have gone this far, just to be scared
out by some dirty sabotage....

"I see it all. I don't know how they did it, but it's all come since
the gold was found. Someone else wants it. They think they can scare
off the men, maybe take a pot-shot at me, come back here and clean up
later on, pull up gold by the pailful, I suppose--"

Riley leaped forward and banged his big fist down on the table. "Right
ye are!" he shouted, until loitering men in the open "street" outside
stared curiously. "Divils they are, but they're the kind of divils we
know how to handle. And now I'll tell ye somethin' else, sir: I know
where they are hidin'.

"There was no work for anyone last night, but I'm used to bein' up. I
couldn't sleep. I was wanderin' around, thinkin' of nothin' at all out
of the way, and I thought I saw some shadows, like it might be men,
way off on the sand. Then later over to the old ghost town, d'ye mind!
I saw a light, a queer, green sort of light. Sure, a fool I was
callin' meself at the time, but now I believe it."

* * * * *

Dean Rawson had crossed the room while the man was still speaking. He
dragged a wooden case from beneath his cot and smashed at the lid with a
wrecking bar. Then he reached inside and drew forth a blue-black .45.

He tossed the pistol to Riley. "Know how to use one of these?" he
asked. The manner in which the big Irishman snapped open the side
ejection was sufficient answer. Dean handed another gun to Smithy,
then pulled out more and laid them on his cot together with a little
pile of cartridge boxes.

"You're all right, Riley," he said. "Just keep your head. Don't let
your damned superstitions run away with you, and I wouldn't ask for a
better man to stand along