for. There 's not much left for
either of us. We 're going at this thing wrong. There's a lot o'
money up there, for somebody. And _you_ ought to get it!"

"What do you mean?" asked Blake. He resented the bodily weakness that
was making burro-riding a torture.

"I mean it's worth a hundred and fifty thousand dollars to you just to
let me drop out. I 'd hand you over that much to quit the chase."

"It ain't me that's chasing you, Connie. It's the Law!" was Blake's
quiet-toned response. And the other man knew he believed it.

"Well, you quit, and I 'll stand for the Law!"

"But, can't you see, they 'd never stand for you!"

"Oh, yes they would. I 'd just drop out, and they 'd forget about me.
And you 'd have that pile to enjoy life with!"

Blake thought it over, ponderously, point by point. For not one
fraction of a second could he countenance the thought of surrendering
Binhart. Yet he wanted both his prisoner and his prisoner's haul; he
wanted his final accomplishment to be complete.

"But how 'd we ever handle the deal?" prompted the tired-bodied man on
the burro.

"You remember a woman called Elsie Verriner?"

"Yes," acknowledged Blake, with a pang of regret which he could not
fathom, at the mention of the name.

"Well, we could fix it through her."

"Does Elsie Verriner know where that pile is?" the detective inquired.
His withered hulk of a body was warmed by a slow glow of anticipation.
There was a woman, he remembered, whom he could count on swinging to
his own ends.

"No, but she could get it," was Binhart's response.

"And what good would that do _me_?"

"The two of us could go up to New Orleans. We could slip in there
without any one being the wiser. She could meet us. She 'd bring the
stuff with her. Then, when you had the pile in your hand, I could just
fade off the map."

Blake rode on again in silence.

"All right," he said at last. "I 'm willing."

"Then how 'll you prove it? How 'd I know you 'd make good?" demanded
Binhart.

"That's not up to me! You're the man that's got to make good!" was
Blake's retort.

"But you 'll give me the chance?" half pleaded his prisoner.

"Sure!" replied Blake, as they rode on again. He was wondering how
many more miles of hell he would have to ride through before he could
rest. He felt that he would like to sleep for days, for weeks, without
any thought of where to-morrow would find him or the next day would
bring him.

It w