"Don't know!" shrieked Honeycutt. "Wasn't I a boy grown when the dyin', delerious man stumbled in on the camp? Didn't I hear him talk an' didn't I see what he had in his fist? Wasn't I settin' right side by side with Gus Ingle when that happened? Wouldn't I of been one to go, if it hadn't of been that I had a big knife-cut in my side you could of shoved a cat in--give to me by a slant-eyed cuss name of Baldy Winch. Didn't I watch 'em go, the whole seven of 'em, Baldy Winch, rot him, jeerin' at me an' me swearin' I'd get him yet, him an' Gus Ingle an' Preacher Ellson an' the first Brodie an' Jimmy Kelp an' Manny Howard an' the Italian? Wasn't I there?" He was almost incoherent. "Were you?" said King. "And Baldy Winch, the one who knifed you----?" The sucking old mouth emitted a dry chuckle. "An' didn't I keep my promise? That very winter after Baldy was the only man to git back. With my side just healin' didn't I make my way through the snow out to where he was----" "His cabin on Lookout?" "With an axe I got there! An' him havin' a gun an' pistol an' knife. Phoo! What good did it do him? An' didn't I square with him by takin' what I wanted?" "Gold?" The old dry cackle answered the question; the bleary eyes were bright with cunning. "If I don't know nothin'," jibed Honeycutt, "what're you askin' me for?" King had learned little that he did not already know. He came back to the table and began gathering up the money. "Wait a minute, Mark," pleaded the old man, restless as he understood that the glittering coins were to be taken away. "Let's talk a while. You an' me ain't had a good chat like this for a year." "I'm going," retorted King. "But I'll make you one last proposition." He thrust into his pocket everything excepting five twenty-dollar gold pieces. These he left standing in a little pile. "I'll give you just exactly one hundred dollars for a look at what is in that box of yours." In sudden alarm the old man shambled back to his bunk, his hands on the bedding over the box. "You'd grab it an' run," he clacked. "You'd rob me. You're worse than Brodie----" "You know better than that," King told him sternly. "If I wanted to rob you I'd do it without all this monkey business." In his suspicious old heart Honeycutt knew that. He battled with himself, his toothless old mouth tight clamped. "I'll go you!" he said abruptly. "Stand back. An' give me the money first." King gave him the money and drew back some three or four paces. Honeycutt drew out the box, held it lingeringly, fought his battle all over again, and again went down before the hundred dollars. He opened the box upon a hinged lid; he made a smooth place in the covers; he poured out the contents.