For half an hour they laboured. Reivers carried and rolled the heaviest rocks he could move into position across the tunnel, and MacGregor staggered beneath smaller pieces to fill up the chinks. When their work was finished there was a rock wall across the mouth of the tunnel which it would have been almost impossible to tear down, especially from the inside. It was growing dark when the task was completed, and Reivers nodded in great satisfaction. “That’ll hold ’em long enough for my purpose, and we just made it in time,” he said. “Now come on up the mountain again, and then for the surprise.” “The surprise, man?” panted MacGregor as he toiled up the rocks. “What are you going to do? Tell me what’s in your head?” “Hush, hush!” laughed Reivers, pulling him up to the top. “Your position is that of the onlooker. It would spoil it for you if you knew what was going to happen.” “An onlooker—me—when it’s a case of getting Shanty Moir? Don’t say that, lad. Don’t leave me out. He’s mine. You know that by all the rights of men and gods it’s my right to get him. Give me my just share of revenge.” “Shut up!” They were nearing the brink of the opening. Reivers’ hand covered MacGregor’s mouth as they leaned over and looked down upon the unsuspecting men in the cavern below. In the shut-in spot night had fallen. On the sand before the dugout Tillie was cooking over a brisk fire, going about her work as calmly as if nothing of moment had happened during the afternoon. Near by, Moir and Joey were packing the dog-sledge and repairing harness, evidently preparing to take the trail after the evening meal. Tammy sat by the fire, holding together with both hands the pieces of his nose which Reivers’ blow had smashed flat on his face. Reivers scarcely looked at the men, but began to scan the walls for a way to get down. The walls slanted inwardly from the top, and at first it seemed impossible that a man could get safely into the cavern without the aid of a rope. But presently Reivers saw that for thirty feet directly above the large dugout the rocks were ragged enough to afford plenty of holds for hands and feet. The walls were nearly fifty feet high. If he could reach to the bottom of this rough space he would be hanging with his feet, ten or twelve feet above the cavern floor. “Good enough,” he said aloud. “It’s a cinch.” “A cinch it is,” breathed MacGregor softly. “We’ll roll up a pile of rocks and kill ’em like rats in a pit. But you maun leave Shanty to me, lad, I——” “Shut up!” Reivers thrust the Scotchman back from the brink. “Do you want me to go after the harness for you? I told you that your job was to be the onlooker. I settle this thing with Shanty Moir myself.” “But man——” “Moir kicked me. Do you understand? He placed his dirty foot on me. Do you see why I’m going to do it by myself?”