the kerosene flare began to burn out. Sheridan had extinguished the one in the treasure trove and brought it in to the Chapel. Now he lit it and they sat in its light, silent. Speech was difficult, there was nothing to say. They were trapped, with the gold that lay in its heap, mocking their eyes whenever they glanced at it. Only Quong, squatting cross-legged on the silt beside the bars, his pose placid as that of a statue of Buddha, seemed indifferent, or reconciled to fate.
"Rats in a trap!" said Jackson at last. "Let's make a break for it. I'd ruther be shot down than die the way they did in the other cave. An' I'll git one or two before I cash in."
There was a murmur of assent.
"Odds ain't more than two to one," went on Red. "We stand to lose, ennyway. We can't take the gold along. If they git the best of us, they win. But we can give 'em one hell of a scrap."
Sheridan hesitated. There came a rustling sound in the passage. Tho light was blocked by a mass of something that dangled from the end of a rope, settled down into the passage, half filling it. It had been swung in from above. More was added swiftly, blocking the exit. A torch beam revealed a mat of cactus and desert growths, pushed back foot by foot into the passage as more was added to the barrier.
"Looks like checkmate this time," said Sheridan.
They might attempt to blast out the stuff, but it was doubtful what effect the dynamite would have on the squashy mass, certain that there was
