He crossed to a shelf, which supported a long drawer. Keeping partly turned toward Teagler, he opened the drawer, reached in suddenly, and drew out a big Colt’s. “Thought so,” he muttered. “Well, I turned the tables right enough, eh?” Teagler made no reply. The other returned and stood over the older man. “Talk up, why don’t you?” he demanded, shoving one gun close to the prospector’s face. “You know who I am, now, don’t you?” “Things sort of indicate you’re that ‘Snapper’ Kirk,” replied Teagler. “Well, I am,” rapped back the stranger. “What of it?” “’Pears like that’s for you to say,” evenly retorted Teagler. “Now you’ve introduced yourself, my name’s Teagler--Joe Teagler.” Inwardly, he was not so cool. That radio message meant more to him than the stranger realized. Teagler’s mind worked rapidly but evolved no way of circumventing the rascal before him. It would be nearly two hours before the mining company man would be due. Teagler had small hope that Kirk would remain that long. Moreover, the prospector did not like the calculating look in his captor’s eyes. The fellow moved away from him now, one gun, Teagler’s, stuck in his pocket, the other ready in his right hand. He rummaged around among a collection of cans and miscellany in a corner of the shanty. “You missed something in that drawer,” spoke Teagler. “I was going after some nuggets. Better take another look.” “Want to trade, eh?” sneered Kirk. Almost reluctantly, he drew his glance from the collection he had been exploring and went to the drawer. The revolver covered Teagler continuously. From the drawer, Kirk now drew a chamois bag. He emptied it, a dozen nuggets dropping out. “That’s from my mine,” said Teagler, intent on interesting the stranger in something besides the problem he knew the jewel thief was facing. “----,” retorted Kirk. “They look mighty sick beside this.” He fumbled in an inside pocket and brought out something wrapped in tissue paper. He unwound the paper and held up a glorious necklace. A streak of sunlight, pouring through a tiny window, struck sparkles that dazzled the prospector’s eyes. “Mighty pretty,” agreed Teagler. “Got any ideas how you’re goin’ to get rid of it?” “Plenty,” answered Kirk. “That’ll be easy. Curse my luck, though! Think of running into a radio outfit up here.” His hands trembled as he returned the necklace to its wrappings and then to his pocket. “I don’t want your ---- nuggets,” he said. His gaze seemed drawn back irresistibly to the cans in the corner. “Don’t suppose there’s another radio outfit in a hundred miles,” he snarled. Teagler smiled slightly. “Guess you’re right,” he acknowledged. Kirk stooped and lifted an old oil can, its spout spearing a piece of potato. The can seemed to fascinate him. He plucked away the potato and tipped the can. He poured out a few drops on the floor. Then he put down the can and his eyes turned back to Teagler.