out here."

Neither Enright nor Beaton answered, but Lacy was in no way embarrassed
by their silence. He knew now he had the whip-hand.

"And to prevent any stir at this end, before you fellows get hold of
the stuff, you want me to call off my working gang and let Westcott
alone. Come, now, speak up."

"Yes," acknowledged Enright. "I don't care so much for Westcott, but I
want things kept quiet. There's a newspaperwoman down at the hotel. I
haven't been able to discover yet what she is doing out here, but she's
one of the big writers on the New York _Star_. If she got an inkling
of this affair----"

"Who is she? Not the girl you had that row over, Beaton?"

The gunman nodded.

"She's the one."

"Do you suppose Jim Westcott knew her before? He brought her to the
hotel and was mighty touchy about her."

"Hell, no; she told me all about that--why she cut that fellow dead in
the dining-room when he tried to speak to her the next day."

Lacy whistled a few bars, his hands thrust deep into his
trouser-pockets. Then, after a few minutes' cogitation, he resumed:

"All right then; we'll take it as it lies. The only question
unsettled, Enright, is--what is all this worth to me?"

CHAPTER XV: MISS LA RUE PAYS A CALL

Some slight noise caused Westcott to straighten up, and turn partially
around. He had barely time to fling up one arm in the warding off of a
blow. The next instant was one of mad, desperate struggle, in which he
realised only that he dare not relax his grip on the wrist of his
unknown antagonist. It was a fierce, intense grapple, every muscle
strained to the utmost, silent except for the stamping of feet, deadly
in purpose.

The knife fell from the cramped fingers, but the fellow struggled like
a demon, clutching at the miner's throat, but unable to confine his
arms. Twice Westcott drove his clenched right into the shadowed face,
smashing it the last time so hard the man's grip relaxed, and he went
staggering back. With a leap forward, the battle-fury on him, Westcott
closed before the other could regain position. Again the clenched fist
struck and the fellow went down in the darkness, whirling backward to
the earth--and lay there, motionless.

An instant, panting, breathless, scarcely yet comprehending what had
occurred, the victor stared at the huddled figure, his arm drawn back.
Then he became aware of excitement within, the sound of voices, the
tramp of feet on the floor, t