e fema minute. We ban haf lots of time to gat out of har. Say,
Kessy, what faller----"

An oath cracked in the darkness like a rifle shot.

"You, Kelly, answer me! Come across here at once!" He paused for a
moment. "By thunder! Kelly, I'll come over there and----"

Casey Dunne did not hear the conclusion of the sentence. His mind was
working swiftly. For, if Farwell tried to come across, he would
probably be killed by the coming explosions; and that must be prevented
at any cost. The destruction of the dam was justifiable, even
necessary. But homicide with it would never do. To shoot in
self-defence or to protect his rights was one thing; to allow a man to
be killed by a blast was quite another. But just how to prevent it was
the question.

"Come along, Casey," McHale urged. "We ain't got too much time."

"Time or not, we can't have Farwell hurt. You go. I'll be after you in
a minute."

"If you stay we all stay," said McHale. "Let him take his chance. Come
on!"

"Git, I tell you," Casey insisted. "I've got to keep him where he is
till the first shot goes." He called out: "All right, Mr. Farwell. You
don't need to come. I'll be there."

"That's not Kelly's voice," snapped Farwell. "What deviltry's going on
here?"

By his voice, Casey guessed that he was advancing. He dropped the
pretence as useless. "Get back, there!" he ordered sharply, but
endeavouring to disguise his natural voice. "Get back to your shack,
you, or I'll drill you!"

Farwell's response came with surprising promptness in the form of a
revolver bullet that sang just above Casey's head. By the momentary
flash of the weapon his big figure was just discernible standing bent
forward, legs wide apart, tense and watchful.

As Casey's hand dropped to his automatic, McHale clutched his wrist.
"Don't shoot!" he whispered.

"I'm not going to hit him," Casey replied. "I'm just going to make him
stay where he is."

"Let me," said McHale, and fired as he spoke. Farwell's revolver
answered. They emptied the guns in the darkness; but as one shot high
by accident and the other low by design, no damage ensued.

The camp, aroused by the shooting, buzzed like a hornet's nest. Lights
appeared everywhere. Dark figures streamed out of doorways and thrown
tent flaps; and, once outside, stood in helpless uncertainty.

"Coom, coom!" cried Oscar. "Ve gat out of har!" They rose and ran in
the dark.

A mighty roar drowned the echoes of the pistol shots, as the