Clifford, Al Ramm and Jack Wilson were standing in front of No. 1 tent, having a little argument as to which of the favorite resorts along the San Francisco route made the best cocktails, when they heard strange sounds coming as if it were from the ground beneath their feet. They got down on their hands and knees, and, with ears pressed to the earth, listened. They had about come to the conclusion that the noise came from the water-pipe, which ran along the front of the tents about four inches underground, when Perry, keeper of the key, and Willie Overstreet, who had been sitting beneath the tree at the head of the street discussing the dynamite rumors, approached attracted by the strange actions of their comrades. An idea, Clifford, he has them on tap. In a stage whisper, of which Henry Irving would be proud, he said, “keep quiet boys, I hear them talking.” This gave Al and Jack the cue, and with grave faces they held their ears to the ground. “What’s the matter”? asked Overstreet, while Perry looked on with staring eyes and open mouth. “They are undermining the camp,” said Ramm in a sepulchral tone. “We’ll all be blown up by dynamite,” wailed Jack Wilson. “Hush,” said Clifford, with upraised hand, “I just heard one of them ask the other for a match to light his pipe.” In a trice Perry and Overstreet had their ears glued to the ground. What Perry heard confirmed his worst fears. He was in the act of dashing off to the General’s tent to give the alarm, when they caught and held him. They reasoned with him. “Any premature action,” they said, “might be the death of them all. They must be very circumspect, as the strikers might be watching their every movement, and, should their suspicions be aroused, the earth might open up at any moment and the whole camp be blown skyward.” It was finally decided that a committee be appointed to wait upon the General after dark and break the dreadful news to him, as gently as possible, for he was hardly over the effects of his late illness, poor man, and nervous prostration might be the result. All that afternoon the new danger which menaced the camp, was the subject of discussion. The relative powers of giant powder and dynamite were debated; Clifford declaring that enough dynamite could be put into the mine to blow the camp, and even the Capitol itself, off the face of the earth. The nervous strain Perry and Overstreet were under all the afternoon was comical to see, particularly Perry, who tugged excitedly at a mustache that wouldn’t make a decent pair of eyebrows. Night came on. It was growing late. Quiet had settled o’er the camp. All lights were out, save the candle that burned dimly in Jack Wilson’s tent. Wilson had retired to his blankets, but Perry and Overstreet still sat up, talking over the events of the day. For them there was no sleep. The silence of the camp was now oppressive and deathlike, when suddenly Billy O’Brien burst into the tent, breathless and wild eyed, saying, that the Colonel