sh his intent plainly enough."

"Sure as you're a foot high!" said Welton slowly.

"Baker knows this; and he's threatened, if I testify against him, to
bring the Wolverine Company into the fight. _Now_ what should I do about
it?"

Welton turned on him a troubled eye.

"Bob," said he, "there's more to this than you think. I didn't have
anything to do with this land until just before we came out here. One of
the company got control of it thirty year ago. All that flapdoodle," he
struck the papers, "didn't mean nothing to me when I thought it came
from your amatoore detectives. But if Baker has this case looked up
there's something to it. Go slow, son."

He studied a moment.

"Have you told your officers of your own evidence against Baker?"

"Not yet."

"Or about these?" he held up the papers.

"No."

"Well, that's all right. Don't."

"It's my duty----"

"Resign!" cried Welton energetically; "then it won't be your duty.
Nobody knows about what you know. If you're not called on, you've
nothing to say. You don't have to tell all you know."

A vision swept before Bob's eyes of a noble forest supposedly safe for
all time devoted by his silence to a private greed.

"But concealing evidence is as much of a perjury as falsifying it--" he
began. A second vision flashed by of a ragged, unshorn fugitive, now in
jail, whom his testimony could condemn. He fell silent.

"Let sleeping dogs lie," said Welton, earnestly. "You don't know the
harm you may do. Your father's reelection comes this fall, you know, and
even if it's untrue, a suit of this character--" He in his turn broke
off.

"I don't see how this could hurt father's chances--either way," said
Bob, puzzled.

"Well, you know how I think about it," said Welton curtly, rising. "You
asked me."

He stumped over to Jane, untied the rope with his thick fingers,
clambered aboard. From the mule's back he looked down on Bob, his
kindly, homely face again alight with affection.

"If you never have anything worse on your conscience than keeping your
face shut to protect a friend from injustice, Bobby," he said, "I reckon
you won't lose much sleep."

With these words he rode away. Bob, returning to camp, unsaddled, and,
very weary, sought his cabin. His cabin mate was stolidly awaiting him,
seated on the single door step.

"My friend that was going to leave me some money in my bunk was coming
to-day," said Jack Pollock. "It ain't in your bunk by mistake?"

"Ja