He objected to leaving the valley with the McKenzies. He had been over that valley and the surrounding mountains inch by inch, he told Ross. Let that "consarned gang" be gone. They two would stay and bring the dynamite to light. Then he told of place after place on the mountain which would make excellent hiding-places for the sticks. There were many caves, and some of them dry. Weimer reasoned the "gang" would cache the sticks in a dry place for their own future use. Temporarily the old partner and the young changed places, and, as Ross listened, he became stout of heart once more. "Of course," he exclaimed, "if dynamite can't be carried up the trail, neither can it be taken back into Camp. It's got to be somewhere around here; and, if we hunt for it a month, we can still get the work done in time." "Vy didn't I tink of dem sticks?" Weimer asked angrily. "I might know dem consarned gang pe up to somet'ing ven dey see our vork it vas gettin' fast! Vy didn't I tink?" Ross, having lapsed into his own thoughts, made no reply; and Weimer arose from the box where he had been sitting, and crawled into his bunk. Ross paced the floor slowly, his arms folded behind him. Ross's fighting blood was up. Before this he had looked at his work as the result of his father's request. It was not to his liking, and the only actual pleasure he took in it was the prospect of finishing it. He had believed before the theft of the sticks that he would welcome anything which really necessitated his leaving Meadow Creek Valley, although he would accept nothing less than necessity. But this theft seemed suddenly to have made the work his own and the failure to accomplish it a personal defeat. Instead of rejoicing over the prospect of leaving Meadow Creek Valley he welcomed eagerly Weimer's suggestion that they stay and hunt for the dynamite, even though the hunt meant that, dynamite or no dynamite, they must be shut up in the valley for months to come. Suddenly a new fear caused him to scramble hastily into his coat, cap, and mittens. "I'm going to fetch the tools down," he explained grimly. "I'm not going to risk having some one make off with them!" "Dat ist so," assented Weimer. "Ve vill need dose tools; ve vill. Dose McKenzie gang vill see. I can find dose sticks, und I know I can." None of the McKenzies came over that evening, to Ross's relief, for the events of the day had brought a new fear of that outfit. Sandy's good-natured neighborliness had deceived him. Now for the first time he realized that they were actual enemies, ready to stoop to any means within the law to baffle him. It was scarcely daylight the following morning, although breakfast in the Weimer cabin had been disposed of, before there was heard a tramp of feet outside through the creaking snow, and Sandy with a heavy pack on his back appeared at the door. "All ready t' strike the trail?" he asked, putting his head inside the shack.