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"I mean that I kept the letter you wrote me seven years ago, and

have put it where it will do you no good if anything happens to

me. That's why you won't draw that gun, Joe Dunke. If you do it

will send you to Yuma. Millionaire you may be, but that won't

keep you from wearing stripes."

Struve's voice rang exultantly. From the look in the face of his

old comrade in crime who had prospered at his expense, as he

chose to think, he saw that for the time being he had got the

whip-hand.

There was a long silence before Dunke asked hoarsely:

"What do you want?"