ld ever have known if
you'd played fair with me. You cared nothing for my life. You shot,
twice, missed killing your man and then when the light went out, sneaked
away like the coward that you are----"

"D----n you," croaked McGuire feebly, falling back in his chair.

"Leaving me to the mercies of your ancient enemy in the dark--who
thought _me_ your accomplice. You can hardly blame him under the
circumstances. But I got the best of him--luckily for me, and disarmed
him. If you had remained a few moments longer you might have taken part
in our very interesting conversation. Do you still deny all this?"

McGuire, stifled with his fear and fury, was incapable of a reply.

"Very good. So long as we understand each other thus far, perhaps you
will permit me to go on. As you know, I came to you in good faith. I
wanted to help you in any way that a gentleman could do. Last night you
tricked me, and put my life in danger. If you had killed Kennedy
everything would have been all right for _you_. And I would have been
accused of the killing. If _I_ had been killed no harm would have been
done at all. That was your idea. It was a clever little scheme. Pity it
didn't work out."

McGuire's faltering courage was coming back.

"Go on!" he muttered desperately.

"Thanks," said Peter, "I will. One shot of yours scraped Kennedy's
shoulder. He was bleeding badly, so I took him to the Cabin and fixed
him up. He was rather grateful. He ought to have been. I gave him a
drink too--several drinks. You said he wouldn't talk, but he did."

"You _made_ him talk, d----n you," McGuire broke in hoarsely.

"No. He volunteered to talk. I may say, he insisted upon it. You see, I
happened to have the gentleman's acquaintance----"

"You----!"

"We met on the steamer coming over when we were escaping from Russia.
His name was Jim Coast then. He was a waiter in the dining saloon. So
was I. Funny, isn't it?"

To McGuire it seemed far from that, for at this revelation his jaw
dropped and he stared at Peter as though the entire affair were beyond
his comprehension.

"You knew him! A waiter, _you_!"

"Yes. Misfortune makes strange bedfellows. It was either that or
starvation. I preferred to wait."

"For--for the love of God--go on," growled McGuire. His hands were
clutching the chair arm and there was madness in his shifting eyes, so
Peter watched him keenly.

"I will. He told me how you and he had worked together out in Colorado,
up in t