"Cayuse is on that I know who the father was," resumed the visitor. "I told him to come here to Goldite and I'd give up the name." He began to consume his cigar once more by inches and watched the effect of his words. There was no visible effect. McCoppet had never been calmer in his life--outwardly. Inwardly he had never felt Dearer to death, and his own kind of fright was upon him. "Well," he said, "your aces look good to me. What do you want--how much?" "I ought to hand you over to Cayuse--good riddance to the whole country," answered Trimmer, with rare perspicacity of judgment. "You bet you're goin' to pay." "If you want your thousand back, why don't you say so?" inquired the gambler quietly. "I'll make it fifteen hundred. That's pretty good interest, I reckon." "Your reckoner's run down," Trimmer assured him. "I want ten thousand dollars to steer Cayuse away." McCoppet slowly shook his head. "You ain't a hog, Larry, you're a Rockyfeller. Five thousand, cash on the nail, if you show me you can steer Cayuse so far off the trail he'll never get on it again." Five thousand dollars was a great deal of money to Trimmer. Ten thousand was far in excess of his real expectations. But he saw that his power was large. He was brutally frank. "Nope, can't do it, Opal, not even fer a friend," and he grinned. "I've got you in the door and I'm goin' to jamb you hard. Five thousand ain't enough." Things had been going against the gambler for nearly an hour. He had been acutely alarmed by the presence of Cayuse in the camp. His mind, like a ferret in a trap, was seeking wildly for a loophole of advantage. Light came in upon him suddenly, with a thought of Culver, by whom, subconsciously, he was worried. "How do you mean to handle the half-breed?" he inquired by way of preparing his ground. "You've promised to cough up a name." Trimmer scratched his head with the end of his pistol. "I guess I could tell him I was off--don't know the father after all." "Sounds like a kid's excuse," commented McCoppet. "Like as not he'd take it out of you." The likelihood was so strong that Trimmer visibly paled. "I've got to give him somebody's name," he agreed with alacrity. "Has anyone died around here recent?" "Yes," answered McCoppet with ready mendacity. "Culver, who used to do surveying." "Who?" asked Trimmer. "Don't know him." McCoppet leaned across the table. "Yes you do. He stopped you once from stealing--from picking up a lot of timber land. Remember?" Trimmer was interested. His vindictive attributes were aroused. "Was that the cuss? I never seen him. Do you think Cayuse would know who he was?--and believe it--the yarn?" "Cayuse was once his chain-man." McCoppet was tremendously excited, though apparently as cold as ice, as he swiftly thought out the niceties of his own and fate's arrangements. "Cayuse's wife once worked for Mrs. Culver, cooking and washing."