"The mine's worth millions--more money than you can dream of. Each of you get a sixth--one third divided between you. You'll never get more money for one night's work. More than you can spend, if you live a hundred winters. But you agree first to these terms--or you won't know where the mine is." "Me--I want a fourth," Joe answered sullenly. "All right. Turn around and go home. I don't want you." It was a bluff, but it worked. Joe came to terms at once. Treacherous himself and expecting treachery, Harold wisely decided that he wouldn't divulge the location of the mine, however, until all needed work was done. "As soon as we've finished what I've planned, we'll tear down his claim notices and put up our own, then go down to the recorder and record the claim," Harold went on. "Then it's ours. No one will ever guess. No one'll make any trouble." Joe's mind seemed to leap ahead of the story, and he made a very pertinent question. "The white squaw. Maybe she'll tell?" Harold glared at him. The man inferred that he couldn't master his own woman. "Didn't you hear me say she was _my_ squaw? I'll tend to her. Besides--the way I've got it planned, she won't know--at least she won't understand. Now listen, you two, and don't make any mistake. I've got to go back to the cabin now--try to be there before they wake up. They're both tired out from a hard experience yesterday--and, as I told you, Bill's as blind as a gopher. "Both of you are to come to the cabin, just about dark. You'll tell me you have been over Bald Peak way and are hitting back toward the Yuga village. Bring along a quart of booze--firewater--and maybe two quarts would be better. We'll have supper, and you'd better bring along something in your pocket for yourselves. It will put the girl in a better mood. And now--you see what you've got to do?" Neither of them answered. They could guess--but they didn't conceive of the real brilliancy of the plan. "If you can't, you're dummies. It's just this"--and Harold's face drew into an unlovely snarl--"sometime in the early evening give Bill what's coming to him." "Do him off----?" Joe asked stolidly. "Stamp him out like I stamp this snow!" He paused, and the two breeds leaned toward him, waiting for the next word. They were not phlegmatic now. They were imbued with Harold's own passion, and their dark, savage faces told the story. Their features were beginning to draw, even as his; their eyes were lurid slits above the high cheek bones. "Make it look like a fight," Harold went on. "Insult him--better still, get in a quarrel among yourselves. He'll tell you to shut up, and one of you flame up at him. Then strike the life out of him before he knows what he's about. He's blind and he can't fight. Then go back to my cabin and hide out." "No food in cabin," Joe objected. "Get some from you?"