"Listen here," demanded the man with the newspaper. "Tell you what, boys, I'm going to wring the neck of that pussyfooting spy Elliot if I ever get a chanct." He read aloud the editorial in the "Sun." After he had finished, the others joined him in a chorus of curses. "I always did hate a spy--and this one's a murderer too. Why don't some one fill his hide with lead?" one of the men wanted to know. Redhead was sitting at the table. He thumped a heavy fist down so hard that the tin cups jumped. "Gimme a crack at him and I'll show you, by God." A shadow fell across the room. In the doorway stood a newcomer. Gordon had a sensation as if a lump of ice had been drawn down his spine. For the man who had just come in was Big Bill Macy, and he was looking at the field agent with eyes in which amazement, anger, and triumph blazed. "I'm glad to death to meet up with you again, Mr. Elliot," he jeered. "Seems like old times on Wild-Goose." "Whad you say his name is?" cut in the man with the newspaper. "Hasn't he introduced himself, boys?" Macy answered with a cruel grin. "Now, ain't that modest of him? You lads are entertaining that well-known deteckative and spy Gordon Elliot, that renowned king of hold-ups--" The red-headed man interrupted with a howl of rage. "If you're telling it straight, Bill Macy, I'll learn him to spy on me." Elliot was sitting on one of the beds. He had not moved an inch since Macy had appeared, but the brain behind his live eyes was taking stock of the situation. Big Bill blocked the doorway. The table was in front of the window. Unless he could fight his way out, there was no escape for him. He was trapped. Quietly Gordon looked from one to another. He read no hope in the eyes of any. "I'm not spying on you. My horse is lame. You can see that for yourself. All I asked was a night's lodging." "Under another name than your own, you damned sneak." The field agent did not understand the fury of the man, because he did not know that these miners were working the claim under a defective title and that they had jumped to the conclusion that he had come to get evidence against them. But he knew that never in his life had he been in a tighter hole. In another minute they would attack him. Whether it would run to murder he could not tell. At the best he would be hammered helpless. But no evidence of this knowledge appeared in his manner. "I didn't give my last name because there is a prejudice against me in this country," he explained in an even voice. He wondered as he spoke if he had better try to fling himself through the window sash. There might be a remote chance that he could make it. The miner at the table killed this possibility by rising and standing squarely in the road. "Look out! He's got a gat," warned Macy. Gordon fervently wished he had. But he was unarmed. While his eyes quested for a weapon he played for time.