“Well, I dunno.  It ’ud have to be something pretty rich.”

“Bill,” said Van, “you’re going to stand in and work with me as you haven’t worked for a year.  It’s going to be worth it.  Opal McCoppet, and one Searle Bostwick, of New York, have stolen my claim by corrupting Lawrence for twenty thousand dollars, running a false reservation line, and maybe putting Culver out of the way because he was square in his business.”

Christler paused in the act of biting his cracker.

“What!”

“There’s going to be something doing, Bill,” Van added, leaning forward on the table.  “I’m going to round up all this gang to-day if it kills you to keep on the trail.”

Christler still sat staring.

“By the Lord Harry!” he said.  “By the Lord—­but, Van, I didn’t come home to rest.  I’ve got Barger going, somewhere, shot to a sieve.  But he’s some disappeared.  If that ain’t just my luck!  I’m goin’ to git him though, you bet!  Lord!—­my pride—­my profession pride—­not to mention that little old reward!  I admit I want that money, Van.  I reckon I’ve pretty near——­”

“Yes, you’ve earned it,” Van interrupted.  “I’m going to see that you get it.  Bill, but first you get busy with me.”

“You’ll see that I get——­” Christler put the cracker in his mouth.  “Don’t talk to a genuine friend like that.  I’m tired already.”

“Are you?” said Van.  “Let’s see.  Barger is here—­in camp.”

Up shot the sheriff as if from the force of a blast.

“What!” he shrilled.  “Barger!  Van, I’ll——­”

Van grinned.

“Don’t forget you’re tired, Bill.  Matt won’t get away.”

“Good Lord, boy—­tell me where’s he at!” cried Christler, dancing on the floor as he strapped his guns upon him.  “Me a-thinkin’ I had shot him up and all this time——­”

“You shot him enough, poor devil,” Van interrupted quietly.  “He’s dead in my tent on the hill.”

The sheriff paused with one hand held in the air.

“Dead!  Crawled all the way to Goldite!” He started for the door.

“Hold on,” said the horseman, blocking his path.  “I told you Matt can’t get away.  We’re going out to get Lawrence first, and then McCoppet and his friend.”

CHAPTER XLIV

THE ENGINES OF CLIMAX

McCoppet was in town.  He had come to camp at midnight of the previous day, duly followed by his friend Larry Trimmer.  The lumberman had waxed impatient.  Fully two thousand dollars of the money he had “earned” was still unpaid—­and hard to get.  He had gone to the “Laughing Water” claim, in vain, and a surly heat was rising in his veins.

Bostwick was due, in his car, at nine o’clock, His visit to Goldite was not entirely one of business.  He had grown alarmed at the lack of news from Beth.  His letters had been ignored.  He not only feared for the fate of his affairs of the heart, but perhaps even more for what she might have done with respect to the money she had asked him to return, a very small proportion of which he was now prepared to repay.