“That you, Miss Margaret?” the mine-owner called.

Neither she nor Struve answered.  The latter had stopped and was waiting tensely his enemy’s approach.  When he was within a few yards of the other Dunke raised his candle and peered into the blackness ahead of him.

“What’s the matter?  Isn’t it you, Miss Peggy?”

“No, it ain’t.  It’s your old pal, Nick Struve.  Ain’t you glad to see him, Joe?”

Dunke looked him over without a word.  His thin lips set and his gaze grew wall-eyed.  The candle passed from right to left hand.

Struve laughed evilly.  “No, I’m not going to pay you that way—­ not yet; nor you ain’t going to rid yourself of me either.  Want to know why, Mr. Millionaire Dunke, what used to be my old pal?  Want to know why it ain’t going to do you any good to drop that right hand any closeter to your hip pocket?”

Still Dunke said nothing, but the candle-glow that lit his face showed an ugly expression.

“Don’t you whip that gun out, Joe Dunke.  Don’t you!  ’Cause why?  If you do you’re a goner.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I kept the letter you wrote me seven years ago, and have put it where it will do you no good if anything happens to me.  That’s why you won’t draw that gun, Joe Dunke.  If you do it will send you to Yuma.  Millionaire you may be, but that won’t keep you from wearing stripes.”

Struve’s voice rang exultantly.  From the look in the face of his old comrade in crime who had prospered at his expense, as he chose to think, he saw that for the time being he had got the whip-hand.

There was a long silence before Dunke asked hoarsely: 

“What do you want?”

“I want you to hide me.  I want you to get me out of this country.  I want you to divvy up with me.  Didn’t we grub-stake you with the haul from the Overland?  Don’t we go share and share alike, the two of us that’s left?  Ain’t that fair and square?  You wouldn’t want to do less than right by an old pal, cap, you that are so respectable and proper now.  You ain’t forgot the man that lay in the ditch with you the night we held up the flyer, the man that rode beside you when you shot—­”

“For God’s sake don’t rake up forgotten scrapes.  We were all young together then.  I’ll do what’s right by you, but you got to keep your mouth shut and let me manage this.”

“The way you managed it before when you let me rot at Yuma seven years,” jeered Struve.

“I couldn’t help it.  They were on my trail and I had to lie low.  I tell you I’ll pull you through if you do as I say.”

“And I tell you I don’t believe a word you say.  You double-crossed me before and you will again if you get a chance.  I’ll not let you out of my sight.”

“Don’t be a fool, Nick.  How can I help you if I can’t move around to make the arrangements for running you across the line?”

“And what guarantee have I got you ain’t making arrangements to have me scragged?  Think I’m forgetting Saturday night?”