Then he slipped a revolver in the boy's hand. Wild coolly stepped from the post. "Up with your hands, you sneaking coyotes!" he cried in a ringing voice. "I reckon ther jig is up now. Arietta has paid ther toll!" Then Wild calmly reached out and took another revolver from the belt of the nearest man to him. Two of the villains held up their hands, but the rest made a bolt for the cave. Crack! Cheyenne Charlie got at work, as usual, and the foremost one dropped. "I reckon you galoots will have ter have a bigger grave dug when we git through with yer," he called out. "That one you've got here ain't half big enough!" Just then Cap Roche slipped the rope, and down he came in a heap. Before he could get upon his feet our hero stood over him. "Surrender!" he cried. "It is the easiest way out of it. If you fight it out there won't be one man left of you, Roche!" "I'll never surrender!" was the defiant shout. "Go ahead and shoot me, if you want to. I am going to die fighting." He rolled over and got upon his feet, regardless of the fact that the finger of the young deadshot was upon the trigger of the revolver that was aimed at him. Roche had lost his revolvers when he tumbled down, but he still hold his knife. Jerking it from the sheath, he prepared to make a rush at the boy, who stood covering him with a revolver. Just then several shots rang out from inside the cave, following by yells of triumph. Arietta now slid down by means of the lariat Jim had hold of. Then Jim dropped the distance himself. Out of the cave came the miners, dragging the prisoners they had taken with them. Roche turned deathly pale when he saw that it was all up with him. "Young Wild West," he hissed, "I want to kill you before I die myself! I will never be taken alive, so if you have got the nerve to fight me, come on!" Wild dropped his revolvers into the holsters and took Jim's knife. "I'm after you, Cap!" he exclaimed, a smile playing about his mouth. "If you want to kill me, come on!" Clash! The knives came together in the air, and then the fight was on. Young Wild West kept slapping him on the face with the flat of his knife blade, and this was galling to the outlaw. "What are you, a young fiend?" he cried, savagely, as he received a scratch on the neck, which he knew could have been his finish if the boy had so willed it. "No," answered Wild; "I am simply a boy who has practiced this sort of business a great deal. Look, out for yourself, Cap! I am going to make you drop that knife!" The words were hardly out of his mouth when the back of Wild's blade struck the villain's wrist. Uttering a cry of pain, Roche dropped his weapon. Then he staggered back and picked up a stone. Crack! One of the miners fired and the man reeled, and, letting go the stone, dropped to the ground, dead. Our hero now went into the cave, for the twelve men who had survived were all tied hard and fast.