of the little building.

"Mr. Renshaw!" shouted the young chief, throwing open the bed-room door.

The barrack was lighted by electricity. Tom threw on the light, then
wheeled toward the bed, to find the superintendent sitting up, revolver
in hand.

"Oh, it's you, is it?" gasped the superintendent. "Mr. Reade, in my
stupor from being aroused I was just on the point of shooting you for a
burglar. It's awful!"

"You ought to throw that revolver to the bottom of the gulf," Tom rasped
out.

"Not much!" retorted the superintendent. "Handling as mixed a crew as we
have on this work I wouldn't think of going about unarmed. And you ought
to go armed, too, Mr. Reade."

"Bosh!" uttered Tom. He had a well-known objection to carrying a pistol.
Reade always maintained that a pistol-carrying man was a coward. A coward
is one who is afraid, and the man who is not afraid has no reason to carry
a weapon.

"Renshaw," added Tom, "there's just one circumstance in which I would
carry a pistol---and that is, if I were carrying large sums of other
people's money. If I were a pay-master, or a bank messenger, I'd carry
a pistol, but under no other circumstances, outside of military service,
would I carry a weapon. But---are you thoroughly awake, now?"