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 man feel warm--money does. I'd sleep in
ten-dollar bills, I'd have my clothes made of them, if I could; I'd
have my house papered with them; I'd eat 'em. Oh, I know, I know about
you--and her--Diana Welldon! You've swor