her cigarette case.

"Tell you what, Mrs. de la Vere," he said, "if ever you come to
Colorado I shall hail you as a real cousin!"

Then a silence fell between them. Bower was walking out of the hotel.
He passed close in front of the glass partition, and might have seen
them if his eyes were not as preoccupied as his mind. But he was
looking at Stampa, and frowning in deep thought. The guide heard his
slow, heavy tread, and turned. The two met. They exchanged no word,
but went away together, the lame peasant hobbling along by the side of
the tall, well dressed plutocrat.

"How odd!" said Mrs. de la Vere. "How exceedingly odd!"

CHAPTER XIII

THE COMPACT

"Now, what have you to say? We are safe from meddlers here."

Bower spoke curtly. Stampa and he were halfway across the narrow strip
of undulating meadow land which shut off the hotel from the village.
They had followed the footpath, a busy thoroughfare bombarded with
golf balls on fine mornings, but likely to be unfrequented till the
snow melted. Receiving no answer, Bower glanced sharply at his
companion; but the old guide might be unaware of his presence, so
steadily did he trudge onward, with downcast, introspective eyes.
Resolved to make an end of a silence that was irksome, Bower halted.

Then, for the first time, Stampa opened his lips. "Not here," he said.

"Why not? We are alone."

"You must come with me, Herr Baron."

"That is not my title."

"It used to be. It will serve as well as any other."

"I refuse to stir a yard farther."

"Then," said Stampa, "I will kill you where you stand!"

Neither in voice nor feature did he exhibit any emotion. He merely
put forward an all-sufficing reason, and left it at that.

Bower was no coward. Though the curiously repressed manner of the
threat sent a wave of blood from his face to his heart, he strode
suddenly nearer. Ready and eager to grapple with his adversary before
a weapon could be drawn, he peered into the peasant's care lined face.

"So that is your plan, is it?" he said thickly. "You would entice me
to some lonely place, where you can shoot or stab me at your own good
pleasure. Fool! I can overpower you instantly, and have you sent to a
jail or a lunatic asylum for the rest of your life."

"I carry no knife, nor can I use a pistol, Herr Baron," was the
unruffled answer. "I do not need them. My hands are enough. You are a
man, a big, strong man, with all a man's worst passions. Have y