The amalgam was put back into the war-bags. The scout took one sack of rations from his horse, told Cayuse to use the other sack for himself, and then the scout, Nomad, and the baron climbed the hill with McGowan and descended into the still quiet camp. Buffalo Bill’s plans had been cleverly laid. If nothing went wrong with them, there would be hot times at the Three-ply during the day to come. CHAPTER VIII. THE ATTACK. The powder-house backed up against the rear wall of the laboratory. It was small, constructed of stone, and was considerably dilapidated through disuse. In earlier days it had answered very well as a storing-place for high-explosives, but that was when the Three-ply Mine was young, and had not expanded to its present dimensions. Now, owing to the mine’s growth, the old powder-house was altogether too close to the scene of operations for safety, and another storeroom had been built farther up the hillside. Very quietly Buffalo Bill, Nomad, and the baron took up their quarters in the ruinous structure, swung the battered old door into place, and seated themselves on the pounded-clay floor. The scout and the baron had each a six-shooter, which had been given to them by McGowan, together with a supply of cartridges. By the time they were safely ensconced in their hiding-place, the sun was on the rise and the camp was astir. Peering through the chinks in the stone wall, the baron could look at the chuck-shanty, and could see Frieda bobbing out and in while making ready the miners’ breakfast. “Ach, sooch a fine girl vat id iss!” he wheezed, with both hands on his heart. “Fergit et!” growled Nomad. “Ye’ve got somethin’ else ter think erbout now, baron.” “I can’t t’ink oof nodding but Frieda!” “Ye ort ter hev said so afore we come inter camp; then we could have left ye with Cayuse an’ ther hosses.” “Nod on your life, Nomat!” murmured the baron vehemently. “I vant to blay efen mit dot Pernritter und dot Chacops, who gold-bricked me und almost got me in chail. Oof id hadn’t peen for Puffalo Pill I vould haf peen in der chail dis minid, und dot vould haf fixed me for keeps mit Frieda. She vouldn’t like some fellers ven he vas in der lock-up.” The baron, gazing soulfully through the crack in the wall, continued to watch for stray glimpses of Frieda. “Thet Bernritter, Buffler,” said Nomad to the scout, “come purty nigh hevin’ things his own way hyar. He had got McGowan’s darter ter agree ter marry him, an’ then he went on bunkoin’ her daddy out o’ ther funds ter live on. What er fool ther super is! Ef he’d a-played honest, he would prob’ly hev married ther gal; an’ then, sooner er later, he’d hev got all the old man’s money.”