"Mebbe I have an' mebbe I ain't," Casey returned defiantly.

"Here's a drill, an' here's your single-jack. Now git t' work.
There ain't any loafin' around this camp, and spies never meant
good to nobody. Yuh needn't expect to be popular with us--but
you'll git your grub if yuh earn it.

Casey looked at the drill, took the double-headed, four-pound
hammer and hesitated. He has said that it was pretty hard to
resist braining the two of them at once. But there would still
be the old man with the shotgun, and he admitted that he was
curious about the old woman who rocked and rocked. He decided to
wait awhile and see, why these miners found it necessary to shoot
harmless prospectors who came near the butte. So he spat into
the dust of the tunnel floor, squinted at Joe for a minute and
went to work.

That day Casey was kept underground except during the short
interval of "shooting" and waiting for the dynamite smoke to
clear out of the tunnel; which process Casey assisted by
operating a hand blower much against his will. Joe remained
always on guard, eyeing Casey suspiciously. When at last he was
permitted to pick up his coat and leave the tunnel, night had
fallen so that the gulch was dim and shadowy. Casey was
conducted to a dugout cabin where bacon was frying too fast and
smoking suffocatingly. Paw was there, in a vile temper which
seemed to be directed toward the three impartially and to have
been caused chiefly by his temporary occupation as camp cook.

Casey watched the old man place food for one person in little