n Peale. The man was standing close
to a shelf in a corner of the cabin. The shelf was in the shadow, but
Kilmeny guessed what lay upon it. He was glad that though his legs were
still stiff and cold the fingers of his right hand had been massaged to
a supple warmth.

"You be warm now, lad. Clear out," warned the big Cornishman.

"Build 'ee a fire in the tunnel, mon," suggested Trefoyle.

"We'll all go or we'll all stay. Drop that, Peale."

The last words rang out in sharp command. Quicker than the eye could
follow Kilmeny's hand had brushed up past his hip and brought with it a
shining thirty-eight.

Taken by surprise, Peale stood stupidly, his hand still on the shelf.
His fingers had closed on a revolver, but they had found the barrel
instead of the butt.

"Step forward to the table, Peale--_with your hand empty_. That's right.
Now listen. These young women have got to sleep. They're fagged to
exhaustion. We three are going over to the shaft-house. Anything you've
got to say to me can be said there. Understand?"

The man stood in a stubborn sullen silence, but his partner spoke up.

"No guns along, Kilmeny, eh?"

"No. We'll leave them here."

"Good enough, eh, Peale?"

Trefoyle's small eyes glittered. Slyly he winked to his partner to
agree, then got a lantern, lit it clumsily, and shuffled out with Peale
at his heels.

Joyce clung to Jack's arm, bewitchingly helpless and dependent. A queer
thrill went through him at the touch of her soft finger tips.

"You won't leave us," she implored. "You wouldn't, would you?"

"Only for a little while. Bolt the door. Don't open it unless I give the
word." He stepped across to Moya and handed her his revolver. In a very
low voice he spoke to her. "Remember. You're not to open unless I tell
you to let me in. If they try to break the door shoot through it at them
waist high. _Shoot to kill._ Promise me that."

Her dark eyes met and searched his. The faintest quiver of the lip
showed that she knew what was before him. "I promise," she said in the
same low voice.

Moya bolted the door after him and sat down trembling by the table, the
revolver in her shaking hand. She knew he had gone to fight for them and
that he had left his weapon behind according to agreement. He was going
against odds just as his father had done before him in that memorable
fight years ago. If they beat him they would probably kill him. And what
chance had one slender man against two such giant