hen ye must know for sure, now, lad, that I'm square with my own nephew.
What'd ye bring back with ye?"

"Something to eat."

"And something to drink, hey? I guess we'll eat first."

Dan retraced his way through the woods a few paces, returning with
packages.

"You younkers can see us eat, if you want to," said Josh Owen, with a
malicious leer, as he spread a piece of paper on the ground and began
to lay out the meal. "When are you two going to eat? I don't know.
Maybe not for a few days yet. Ye see, it ain't so easy to make an
enemy of a man by sneaky tricks, and then get on his right side again."

This picnic breakfast lasted a long time, it seemed to watchful Jack
Benson. But at last it was over. Josh brought out his ill-smelling
pipe once more, settling himself, with his back against a tree-trunk,
to enjoy himself.

"Bring anything to drink, Danny boy?" inquired Owen, after a few minutes.

"Here's some beer," proposed Jaggers, passing over the bottle.

Josh opened it, took a long drink, then sat with the bottle poised
on one of his knees.

"I don't believe ye'd better have any of this, Danny, lad," declared
Owen, with a grin.

"Don't want any," responded Jaggers, in a rather sulky voice.

Dan got up and strolled about, his hands in his pockets, whistling
softly but cheerily. Josh Owen finished his unwise beverage, and tossed
the bottle a few feet away. Presently the man's eyes closed, but he
opened them as though with an effort.

"S'here, Danny," he demanded, thickly, drowsily, "watcher put in that
stuff?"

Dan Joggers did not reply, but he turned to watch his uncle, a look of
the lowest cunning in the young bully's eyes. For a brief space of
time Owen fought against his drowsiness. Then he lurched, falling over
on one side, unconscious--drugged.

In a twinkling, then, Dan Jaggers knelt beside his uncle, rifling the
other man's pockets until he had brought to light both their shares in
the evil-doing of the night.

CHAPTER VIII

A SWIFT STROKE FOR HONOR

For the space of a few moments Dan Jaggers stared at the money clutched
in his hands in a way that betrayed the extent of its fascinating hold
upon his mind.

Then he glanced down at his unconscious uncle.

"Ugh!" he grunted, giving that prostrate form a slight but contemptuous
kick. "If I hadn't done something like this you would. Oh, ye-eh,
there's honor among thieves, but it's no good trusting to that honor.
Every ma