“You got yourself in this,” he muttered, “with that cursed wireless thing of yours.” Teagler’s muscles tautened as he read the other’s thoughts. “You’d take a chance like that?” he drawled. The prospector realized fear, nor was he ashamed of it. What an inglorious ending this would be, to his years of hopes. “I’d as soon swing as go to the pen for a dozen years,” replied Kirk. “Besides, they’d never catch me. No one has seen me here. They couldn’t possibly connect me with it.” He was arguing with himself, out loud, Teagler decided. The prospector’s mind worked under feverish pressure. He sought to get back to calmer thinking. “How do you know I’d tell?” he asked. Kirk laughed harshly, mockingly. “Why wouldn’t you?” he demanded. “Of course, you’d tell. Think any promise you made would be worth--that.” The crook snapped his fingers. “I know Coster,” said Teagler. “Oh, you do! That’s why you wouldn’t tell him, eh? Or, maybe, you’d induce him to let me off easy?” Teagler shook his head. “I should say not,” continued Kirk. “He hasn’t got me yet. I ran the risk to get these little pretties and I’m going to cash in on them. You’re not going to stop me, either.” He reached for a coil of rope on the wall and approached Teagler. “Put your hands behind your back!” he ordered. In a little more than a minute, the prospector was securely tied, hands and feet. “I told you I knew Coster,” insisted Teagler, as Kirk draw taut the last knots. “There’s something yet in that drawer you’ll like to see. Open a little black box in there. It’s unlocked. You’ll find a paper that will interest you. Maybe, it will save your life from the noose. If you see that, you’ll think I ain’t so likely to tell Coster.” Kirk pulled out the designated paper, glanced at it hastily; then he read it a second time, more carefully. “Now, you see,” urged Teagler. “This says Joseph Teagler is wanted for embezzlement of $25,000 from this same guy, Ellsworth Coster,” said Kirk, wonderingly. “You said your name was Teagler. That right?” The thief glanced sharply from the picture on the circular before him to the prospector’s face. The photograph was of a man many years younger, clean-shaven, but the resemblance was unmistakable. “That’s right,” echoed Teagler. “Twelve years ago,” went on Kirk. “Well, what about it? What’s that got to do with me?” “Here I am, and I never did no time for that job,” said Teagler. “This is a pretty safe place up here. You headed right, Kirk. I was workin’ for Coster, sellin’ farm lands. I got my hands on some cash that looked easy, and I beat it. We could be partners----” Kirk was thinking rapidly. “Where’s the stuff?” he demanded. “What--” began Teagler. “The dough, the boodle, the twenty-five grand,” insisted Kirk. “Oh, I’ve got a cache, all right,” said the prospector. “Don’t you worry about that. Now, you see why I won’t turn you in.”