“That will make very little difference to you, Jack Burke,” he said quietly, “if I have any occasion to turn loose this arsenal.  However, stand quiet, and it will afford me pleasure to give you all necessary information.  Let us suppose, for instance, that I am a person to whom Biff Farnham desires to sell some stock in this mine; becoming interested, I seek to discover its real value for myself, and come down with the night shift.  Quite a natural proceeding on my part, is n’t it?  Now, under such circumstances, I presume you, as foreman, would be perfectly willing to show me exactly what is being accomplished down here?”

He paused, his lips smiling pleasantly, and Burke stared at him, with mouth wide open, his eyes mere black slits in the gloom.  It was a full minute before he regained control of his voice.

“Ye think Oi ’m a dommed fool?” he ejaculated, hoarsely.

“No; that is exactly what I do not think, Burke,” and Winston smiled again beneath his stern gray eyes.  “That is precisely why I know you will show me all I desire to see.  A damn fool might possibly be tempted to take chances with this gun, and get hurt, but you are smart enough to understand that I ’ve got the drop all right, and that I mean business—­I mean business.”  These words were uttered slowly, deliberately, and the foreman involuntarily dropped his lids as though feeling them physically, the fingers of his uplifted hands clinching.

“What—­what is it ye want to see?”

“That tunnel you ’ve got concealed by falsework.”

Burke spat against the rock wall, the perspiration standing forth on his forehead.  But Irish pugnacity made him stubborn.

“Who tould ye that loie?  Shure, an’ it’s not here ye ’ll be apt to foind the loikes o’ that, me man.”

Winston eyed him scornfully.

“You lie, Burke; I saw it with my own eyes just beyond that second turn yonder.  You cannot play with me, and the sooner you master that fact the better.  Now, you can take your choice—­lead on as I order, and keep your men away, or eat lead.  It’s one or the other within the next sixty seconds.  Turn around!”

No man in his senses would ever doubt the determined purpose lying behind those few low-spoken, earnest words.  Whoever this man might be, whatever his purpose, he was assuredly not there in sport, and Burke wheeled about as though some concealed spring controlled his action.

“Good,” commented Winston, briefly.  “You can lower your hands.  Now, walk straight forward, speaking only when I tell you, and never forget there is a gun-barrel within two feet of your back.  The slightest movement of treachery, and, God helping me, Burke, I ’ll turn loose every cartridge into your body.  I don ’t want to do it, but I will.”