d as he saw Calumet.

"Who got you?" repeated Calumet.

"Telza."

"Telza?" Calumet bent over him again; the name sounded foreign. "Talk
sense," he said shortly; "who's Telza?"

"A Toltec Indian," said the man. "He's been hangin' around here--for a
month. Around the Arrow, too. Mebbe two months. Nobody knows. He's
like a shadow. Now you see him an' now you don't," he added with a
grim attempt at a joke. "Taggart's had me trailin' him, lookin' for a
diagram he's got."

"Diagram of what?" demanded Calumet. His interest was intense. A
Toltec! Telza was of the race from whom his father and Taggart had
stolen the idol. He leaned closer to the man.

"Are Telza an' Taggart friends?" he asked.

"Friends!" The man's weak laugh was full of scorn. "Taggart's
stringin' him. Telza's lookin' for an idol--all gold an' diamonds, an'
such. Worth thousands. Taggart set Telza on Betty Clayton." The man
choked; his breath came thickly; red stained his lips. "Hell!" he
said, "what you chinnin' me for? Get that damned toad-sticker out of
me, can't you. It's in my side, near the back--I can't reach it."

Calumet felt where the man indicated, and his hand struck the handle of
a knife. It had a large, queerly-shaped handle and a long, thin blade
like a stiletto. It had been driven into the man's left side just
under the fleshy part of the shoulder, and it was plain that its point
had found a vital spot--probably through the lung and near the heart,
for the man was limp and helpless, his breath coughed in his throat,
and it was certain that he had not many minutes to live. Calumet
carefully withdrew the weapon, and the man settled back with a sigh of
relief.

"You're Marston, ain't you?" he said, slowly and painfully, gasping
with every breath. "I've heard the Taggart's talk about you. Old
Tom's developed a yellow streak in his old age an' he's leavin' all his
dirty work to Neal. Neal's got a yellow streak, too, for that matter,
but he's young an' ain't got no sense. I reckon I'm goin' somewhere
now, an' so I can say what I like. Taggart ain't no friend of
mine--neither of them. They've played me dirt--more than once. My
name's Al Sharp. You know that Tom Taggart was as deep in that idol
business as your dad was. He told me. But he's got Telza soft-soaped
into thinkin' that Betty Clayton's folks snaked it from Telza's people.
Taggart's got evidence that your dad planted the idol around here
somewhere