"Don't you?" asked Wayland. "Then I'll tell you! I have the affidavit of the most of the 'dummies' that the homestead entries were fraudulent! You could see that if you knew that men can't farm at an angle of ninety! In case that fails, I want proof that this coal is so valuable it is being shipped out. I want exact proofs of the exact profits being made on the fraudulently acquired mines." "What's your idea? Shut 'em up from development for ever?" asked Brydges belligerently. "Brydges," said Wayland, "when you find you can't throw your pursuer off the trail by the skunk's peculiar trick of defence, I'd advise you to try kicking sand in the public's eyes and drawing a rotten herring across the trail! This time, I think you'll find, the public won't go off the trail after the rotten herring. They'll keep on after the thief." It was at that stage, Bat fell back abreast of the Sheriff, and Matthews behind heard one of the two say, "Damn him, then, let him go on and examine his bellyfull! It's his funeral; not ours!" Wayland not only examined the second tunnel above the first, but he insisted on descending a shaft that had been sunk almost vertically from the crest of Coal Hill to get a measurement of the veins, for stoping, or cross cutting, or drifting or some such technical work, I forget what; but the vertical shaft afforded estimates of the depth of the veins. Because it was not a regular avenue of work but only of examination, it had not been equipped with steam hoist and electric light, but was furnished only with such old fashioned hand winch as the stage driver had described to Eleanor. A huge bucket depended by cable from the hand hoist. It was as they were all lighting lanterns and stepping in, that MacDonald took a look at the hoist and noticed that the Sheriff was to give a hand at the winch. "Not coming Brydges?" asked Matthews, who was already in the bucket. "Oh, I guess I'm a pretty heavy man to go in that." "Then, A guess you're afraid of what's goin' t' happen! We're not goin' down, without you, m' boy." Bat winked at the Sheriff and clambered in. It was then something on the edge of the _Brule_ arrested MacDonald's glance; Calamity coming through the cottonwoods mad and dishevelled, O'Finnigan reeling up from the Smelter City trail mad with whiskey, waving a bottle and shouting--"What's th' use o' anything? Nothing! I'm Uncle Sam! Hoorah!" "Go on," ordered MacDonald curtly. "I'll keep the notes safe up here, in my pocket, Wayland! I'll stay and give Sheriff Flood a hand at the hoist!" The Sheriff looked for directions to Brydges.