“It’s hard, I know,” said the scout, in a kindly tone, “to have your confidence betrayed by a man like Bernritter. Still, the facts are sometimes brutal, McGowan. It is far and away better for you to find out what sort of a fellow Bernritter is now than after his marriage to your daughter.” McGowan, greatly shaken, bowed his head thoughtfully. “The night is wearing to a close,” went on the scout briskly, “and we must have our plans all laid before morning. How many men have you in the camp on whom you can absolutely rely?” “I thought I could rely on all of them,” was the slow answer, “with the possible exception of Jacobs. The cyanid expert has only been here for a few months, and I never liked him. He’s a good workman, however, and I’ve kept him solely for that reason.” “How many men are on the night-shift in the mine?” “Eleven.” “They will be in the bunk-house to-morrow afternoon?” “Yes.” “How many are on the day-shift in the mill?” “A batteryman, two amalgamators, and an engineer. The engineer and the batteryman will help the amalgamators make the clean-up, since the fires will be banked and the stamps hung up.” “Then there will be four in the mill?” “Yes.” “How many Mexicans are working about the cyanid-tanks?” “Six. Their foreman is a white man, Andy O’Connell--as game and honest a man as ever walked.” “Can you depend on all the men who are to be in the bunk-house, in the mill, and around the tanks to-morrow afternoon?” “I don’t know about the Mexicans, but I can bank on the rest.” “Then here is what you must do: Contrive in some way to have the men in the bunk-house and in the mill armed with six-shooters. Arm O’Connell, too, but don’t arm the Mexicans. Do this at noon, and don’t let either Bernritter or Jacobs know that you do it.” “That will take a lot of guns, Buffalo Bill, and I haven’t so many. Most of the men, however, have weapons of their own.” “If you can’t arm all of them with guns, arm them with iron drills, axes, picks--anything that comes handiest. My Dutch pard and I would also like a six-shooter apiece--we had the misfortune to be stripped of our own hardware. Is there any place, near the laboratory and the cyanid-tanks, where you could hide Nomad and the baron and me?” “There’s an old powder-house at the rear of the laboratory,” said McGowan. “It isn’t used for storing high-explosives any more, and you might hang out in there.” “At noon,” proceeded the scout, “when you arm your men tell your mill-engineer to keep a lookout in the direction of the cyanid-tanks. The moment he sees a man there waving a handkerchief, tell him to blow the whistle as long as he can. That will be the signal for your men to get busy. I presume there will be steam enough in the boiler for that?” “Yes. The mill starts up again when the night-shift goes on. I’ll tell the engineer. Nevertheless, this may be a case of all cry and no wool, Buffalo Bill.”