“So it’s you, is it, Mo’gan McNabb?--turnin’ yo-uh teeth upon the hand that’s been feedin’ you? By the Lord Harry, you make me mighty sorry that I once saved you from going to the penitentiary, where you belong! Now, then, open yo-uh mouth and tell these gentlemen why you come heah dynamitin’ thei-uh machinery!” The mountaineer’s lips were drawn back in a doglike snarl. “I’ll see ’em damned befo’ I’ll open my haid to ’em, now, Judge Birrell! Lookee at this yere,” and he wrenched his tied hands around so that the judge might see. “You don’t like the rope?” said the judge evenly. “Listen to me, Mo’gan; you McNabbs have lived on Westwood land, father and son, for fo’ generations, and you’ll open yo-uh head to me, suh! What quarrel have you got with the owneh of the Ocoee property? Ansuh me, if you don’t want anotheh tu’n o’ that rope taken around yo-uh neck, suh!” The answer was as prompt as it was disconcerting. “I allow I got thess the same sort o’ quarrel ez you have, judge. Didn’t they-all steal the Ocoee f’om you in the first place?” “That’s neithuh heah nor there!” was the stern rejoinder. “Would you give these gentlemen to understand that _I_ am yo-uh principal in these scandalous outrages? See heah, Mo’gan, we all know that you haven’t been actin’ on yo-uh own responsibility. Who has been puttin’ you up to all these deviltries?” “If you don’t know, I reckon _I_ ain’t a-goin’ to be the one to tell you,” said the prisoner, relapsing into his former attitude of sullenness. Then, as if upon a second thought: “You ask Miss Dick, judge; I allow _she_ knows.” The little pause of consternation which this statement precipitated was broken by an exclamation from Rucker. “Look out yonder! Somebody’s set the leaves afire! My God! we left the dynamite out there!” Carfax, who was standing beside the mechanician, wheeled quickly to face the open door. Out beyond the drill derrick a thin line of fire, driven by the freshening west wind and showing orange-colored under the mist-wraiths, was sweeping down upon the clearing. “Show me where you left the stuff!” he snapped at the mechanician, but even as he spoke, a fuse squibbed and the thunder of a terrific explosion shattered the forest silences, the concussion smashing the glass in the small square window, rocking the lightly built tool-house like the heaving of an earthquake, and bombarding it an instant later with a rain of falling _débris_. The judge, sitting upon the coil of rope, was not thrown down, but the five men who were standing were flung in a heap on the floor.