ts and I did what he said. 'Now,' he says, 'it's yours and mine.'"

McGuire made a motion toward the glass. Peter filled it for him and he
drank.

"And then--what happened?" asked Peter quietly.

"Hawk Kennedy had me dead to rights. There was only one thing to do--to
make believe I was 'with him.' We buried Ben Cameron, then went down and
brought our outfit up, Hawk watchin' me all the while. He'd taken my gun
and Ben Cameron's and unloaded them and carried all the ammunition about
him. But I didn't know what I was in for. That night he made me sit down
while he drew up a paper, torn from an old note book of Ben Cameron's--a
partnership agreement, a contract."

McGuire broke off suddenly and got up, moving nervously to the safe,
from one of the drawers of which he took a blue linen envelope and
brought forth a paper which he handed to Peter.

"That's the hellish thing, Nichols," he said hoarsely. "That's why I'm
afraid of Hawk Kennedy. A lie that he forced me to sign! And there's
another paper like this in his possession. Read it, Nichols."

Peter took the paper in his fingers and looked at it curiously. It was
soiled and worn, broken at the edges, written over in lead pencil, but
still perfectly legible.

AGREEMENT BETWEEN HAWK KENNEDY AND MIKE McGUIRE

Us two found Ben Cameron on his copper claim in Madre Gulch.
We killed him. Both of us had a hand in it. This mine is
Hawk Kennedy's and Mike McGuire's and we are pardners in the
same until death us do part, so help us God.

(Signed) MIKE MCGUIRE.
HAWK KENNEDY.

"He wanted it on me----" McGuire gasped. "You see? To keep me quiet."

"I understand," said Peter. "This is 'what you've got and what I've got'
referred to in the placard."

"Yes," said McGuire. "A partnership agreement and a confession--of
something I didn't do."

Peter's eyes were searching him through and through.

"You swear it?"

McGuire held up his right hand and met Peter's gaze without flinching.

"Before God, I do."

Peter was silent for a moment, thinking.

"And then, you left Hawk Kennedy there to die," he said slowly, watching
the man.

McGuire sank into his chair with a sigh, the perspiration now beaded on
his pale forehead.

"I didn't know what to do, I tell you," he almost whispered. "He had
me. I was unarmed. I'd 'a' killed him if I'd had a gun. But I waited a
few days after we buried Cameron--makin' believe I was sati