AT SHAFT 11
All the rest of you lay flat on the floor. Now, as soon as that light gets bright, pick out yore man,—don't waste a shot, now—fire!" Six pistols spat fire out into the night. There were cries of pain and the noise of scurrying feet as the strikers fled pell-mell out of range.
"Now, down on the floor!" commanded Sam. The order came not a moment too soon, for an answering volley of shots penetrated the walls and passed harmlessly over the heads of those within.
Meanwhile, some one seeing the mistake of the burning cabin had ordered it extinguished; but this could not be done without the workmen being exposed to the fire from the blacks' citadel. So there was nothing to do save to wait until the shanty had burned down. The dry pine was flaming brightly now, and lit up the scene with a crimson glare. The great rocks and the rugged mountain-side, with patches of light here and there contrasting with the deeper shadows, loomed up threatening and terrible, and the fact that behind those boulders lay armed men thirsty for blood made the scene no less horrible.
In his cabin, farther up the mountain side,
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