k came into Kennedy's face--a narrowing of the eyelids, a
drawing of the muscles at the mouth, as he searched Peter's face with a
sharp glance.

"If you play me false, Pete, I'll have your heart's blood," he said.

Peter only laughed at him.

"I'm not easily scared. Save the melodrama for McGuire. If you can do
without me--go ahead. Play your hand alone. Don't tell me anything. I
don't want to know."

The bluff worked, for Kennedy relaxed at once.

"Oh, you're a cool hand. I reckon you think I need you or I wouldn't be
here. Well, that's so. I do need you. And I'm goin' to tell you the
truth--even if it gives away my hand."

"Suit yourself," said Peter, indifferently.

He watched his old "bunkie" pour out another drink of the whisky, and a
definite plan of action took shape in his mind. If he could only get
Kennedy drunk enough.... The whisky bottle was almost empty--so Peter
got up, went to his cupboard and brought forth another one.

"Good old Pete!" said Hawk. "Seems like July the first didn't make much
difference to you."

"A present from Mr. McGuire," Peter explained.

"Well, here's to his fat bank account. May it soon be ours." And he
drank copiously. Peter filled his own glass but when the opportunity
offered poured most of it into the slop-bowl just behind him.

"I'm goin' to tell you, Pete, about me and McGuire--about how we got
that mine. It ain't a pretty story. I told you some of it but not the
real part--nobody but Mike McGuire and I know that--and he wouldn't tell
if it was the last thing he said on earth."

"Oh," said Peter, "something crooked, eh?"

Kennedy laid his bony fingers along Peter's arm while his voice sank to
an impressive whisper.

"Crooked as Hell, Pete--crooked as Hell. You wouldn't think Mike McGuire
was a murderer--would you?"

"A murderer----!"

Kennedy nodded. "We took that mine--stole it from the poor guy who had
staked out his claim. Mike killed him----"

"You don't mean----?"

"Yes, sir. Killed him--stuck him in the ribs with a knife when he
wasn't lookin'. What do you think of that?"

"McGuire--a murderer----!"

"Sure. Nice sort of a boss you've got! And he could swing for it if I
didn't hold my tongue."

"This is serious----"

"You bet it is--if he don't come across. Now I guess you know why he was
so cut up when I showed up around here. I've got it on him all right."

"Can you prove it?"

Kennedy rubbed his chin for a moment.

"I could but I don't