Mr. Willett and his friend and fellow prisoner, Hank Tims, were kept securely guarded in a tent situated in about the center of the straggling habitations that went to make up the camp at Hurley's Gulch.

Hank, who knew the country and the climate better than any white man in it, was well aware, from the continuence and violence of the storm, that it was spread over a wide area, and that the heavy rainfall and the consequent melting of snow on the crests of the higher mountains would flood all the streams flowing into the great Colorado.

He did not wish voluntarily to confess his fears to Mr. Willett, and yet he felt that it was only right that that gentleman should know what effect the storm might have on their own lives.

"Do you know what I have been thinking ever since night came and the rain has been dashing on the canvas over our heads, as if determined to get in?" said Mr. Willett, along toward morning, on the day following the departure of Ulna for Gold Cave Camp.

"Mebbe ye've been thinkin' that this is a powerful stormy night," answered Hank, at a venture.

"Yes, and that the storm will be apt to flood the caÑon where the boys are."

"Wa'al," drawled Hank, as if weighing his words, "this yar rain'll be mighty apt to raise the creeks in the bottoms of the caÑons."

"What if Ulna should not be able to get across?"

"He'll get across, no fear of that," said Hank. "But thar's another important pint in the case."

"What is that, Hank?"

"It's can Ulna git back an' fetch yer son with him."

"And what do you think about that, Hank?"

"I don't know what to think."

"But, surely, you have some idea."

"Oh, yes," said Hank, his hand to his ear to measure the sound of the pouring rain, and his gray eyes intently fixed on the ceiling, as if he were trying to find out when the flood would break through and drench them.

"Well," said Mr. Willett, nervously, "what's your opinion?"

"I don't really think that Ulna, or Sam, ken git back to Hurley's for days. Cos why, they can't cross the flood to the trail, an' no man could, onless he chanced to be rigged with wings, like a bird, an' up to this time I ain't run acrost a human mortal fixed in that way, though I'll allow that sich an addition would be powerful convenient at times."

"But if my son can't come here, what then?"

"You mean, how will it fare with us?"

"Yes, Hank, that is what I mean."

"Wa'al, it'll depend on many pints."

"Give me some of them."

"If the men in these diggins keep sober, we ken hope for fair treatment, but if they don't it'll go hard on us. But all that depends on the storm," said Hank, with great deliberation.

"On the storm?" repeated Mr. Willett.

"Yes; that's what I said. Of course, you understand that if the rain keeps on an' raises the creek har at Hurley's, then the miners won't be able to work for days an' days?"

"I understand that, Hank."

"Wa'al, if they don't work, an' have somethink to okerpy their minds, do you know what they will do?"

"I haven't the slightest idea," said Mr. Willett.

"Why, they'll crowd into the saloons an' git drunk. When even a well-meanin' man is drunk he's a beast, but when these rough fellows drink that devil's broth, whisky, why it makes 'em reg'lar out and out fiends."

"I understand you," said Mr. Willett sadly.

The two men relapsed into silence and again lay down on the blankets that had been given them by the vigilance committee.

Hank Tims was right in his surmise.

Morning brought no cessation to the storm, and as a consequence the miners could not work, for Hurley's Gulch was transformed from a little stream into a raging torrent.

As has been before stated, a majority of these miners were industrious, honest men; and their vigilance committee, though apt to do wrong in its efforts to be just, had a repressing effect on the lawless element.

These men were honest in the belief that Mr. Willett and his companion were responsible for the death of Tom Edwards, and it must be confessed that all the circumstances—circumstances that were strengthened by the dying man's statements, pointed that way.

The "Grand Union Hotel," the most important establishment at Hurley's Gulch, was composed of three tents, and old dilapidated tents at that.

The front tent was occupied by a bar, the center tent as a kitchen and dining room, and the rear canvas afforded space for the guests to spread their own blankets and sleep as best they might.

Frank Shirley and Badger had their headquarters at the Grand Union. Here, the following day, the miners gathered to discuss the effect the storm might have on the return of the messenger with the paper that was to show that Mr. Willett had paid Edwards in full for his claim at Gold Cave Camp.

A few men believed Mr. Willett's story, but yet, in deference to the wishes of the majority they were willing to have a trial, but not till a sufficient time had passed for the floods to subside so that the messenger might have a chance to return.

Frank Shirley saw the drift of affairs, and, without seeming to do so, he made up his mind to direct it.

He was well supplied with money, and feeling that he had a large fortune to fall back on, if he managed his game properly, he decided to give every man, for nothing, all the whisky he could drink, and then when he had the camp crazed with liquor to turn them at once against Mr. Willett.

In carrying out this monstrous scheme, Frank Shirley was ably seconded by Badger.

The storm continued throughout the day, but the sound of its fury was gradually deadened by the uproar of the drunken men in and about the Grand Union Hotel.

From being a well-meaning crowd of miners, they gradually became a mob of fierce and profane drunken men, with no more moral conception of their conduct than the inmates of a mad-house.

By the time night came again, they had forgotten their promise to give the accused men a hearing, and were resolved to slay them at once.