of fear.

"You forget. I was your lawyer in Jimmy Tearle's case, and a letter's been
found written by the switchman's wife to her husband. It reached me the
night he was killed by the avalanche. It was handed over to me by the
post-office, as the lawyer acting for the relatives. I've read it. I've
got it. It gives you away."

"I wasn't alone." Fear had now disappeared, and the old man was fighting.

"No, you weren't alone; and if the switchman and the switchman's wife
weren't dead and out of it all, and if the other man that didn't matter
any more than you wasn't alive and hadn't a family that does matter, I
wouldn't be asking you peaceably for two thousand dollars as my fee for
getting you off two cases that might have sent you to prison for twenty
years, or, maybe, hung you to the nearest tree."

The heavy body pulled itself together, the hands clinched. "Blackmail--you
think I'll stand it?"

"Yes, I think you will. I want two thousand dollars to help a friend in a
hole, and I mean to have it, if you think your neck's worth it."

Teeth, wonderfully white, showed through the shaggy beard. "If I had to go
to prison--or swing, as you say--do you think I'd go with my mouth shut?
I'd not pay up alone. The West would crack--holy Heaven, I know enough to
make it sick. Go on and see! I've got the West in my hand." He opened and
shut his fingers with a grimace of cruelty which shook Rawley in spite of
himself.

Rawley had trusted to the inspiration of the moment; he had had no clearly
defined plan; he had believed that he could frighten the old man, and by
force of will bend him to his purposes. It had all been more difficult
than he had expected. He kept cool, imperturbable, and determined,
however. He knew that what the old quack said was true--the West might
shake with scandal concerning a few who, no doubt, in remorse and secret
fear, had more than paid the penalty of their offences. But he thought of
Di Welldon and of her criminal brother, and every nerve, every faculty,
was screwed to its utmost limit of endurance and capacity.

Suddenly the old man gave a new turn to the event. He got up and,
rummaging in an old box, drew out a dice-box. Rattling the dice, he threw
them out on the table before him, a strange, excited look crossing his
face.

"Play for it," he said, in a harsh, croaking voice. "Play for the two
thousand. Win it, if you can. You want it bad. I want to keep it bad. It's
nice to have; it makes a m