If he comes, we'll shoot."

"But Friday----Do you mean, sir, that you'll go out to him with five
thousand dollars and risk----"

"No, I won't. _You_ will," said McGuire, watching Peter's face craftily.

"Oh, I see," replied Peter, aware that he was being drawn more deeply
into the plot than he had wished. "You want me to meet him."

McGuire noted Peter's dubious tone and at once got up and laid his hands
upon his shoulders.

"You'll do this for me, won't you, Nichols? I don't want to see this
man. I can't explain. There wouldn't be any danger. He hasn't anything
against you. Why should he have? I haven't any one else that I can
trust--but Stryker. And Stryker--well--I'd have to tell Stryker. _You_
know already. Don't say you refuse. It's--it's a proof of my confidence.
You're just the man I want here. I'll make it worth your while to stay
with me--well worth your while."

Peter was conscious of a feeling partly of pity, partly of contempt, for
the cringing creature pawing at his shoulders. Peter had never liked to
be pawed. It had always rubbed him the wrong way. But McGuire's need was
great and pity won.

"Oh, I'll do it if you like," he said, turning aside and releasing
himself from the clinging fingers, "provided I assume no
responsibility----"

"That's it. No responsibility," said McGuire, in a tone of relief.
"You'll just take that money out--then come away----"

"And get nothing in return?" asked Peter in surprise. "No paper--no
receipt----?"

"No--just this once, Nichols. It will keep him quiet for a month or so.
In the meanwhile----" The old man paused, a crafty look in his eyes,
"In the meanwhile we'll have time to devise a way to meet this
situation."

"Meaning--precisely what?" asked Peter keenly.

McGuire scowled at him and then turned away toward the window.

"That needn't be your affair."

"It won't be," said Peter quickly. "I'd like you to remember that I came
here as a forester and superintendent. I agreed also to guard your house
and yourself from intrusion, but if it comes to the point of----"

"There, there, Nichols," croaked McGuire, "don't fly off the handle.
We'll just cross this bridge first. I--I won't ask you to do anything
a--a gentleman shouldn't."

"Oh, well, sir," said Peter finally, "that's fair enough."

McGuire came over and faced Peter, his watery eyes seeking Peter's.

"You'll swear, Nichols, to say nothing of this to any one?"

"Yes. I'll keep silent."

"Nothi