"Well, then," said Pete, "I will. Here we go, fresh. And you may not be
just the best-pleased with my plan at first, son. I'm not going to bail
you out."

"What the hell!" said Stan. "Why not?"

"I've thought it all out," said Pete, "and I've talked it over with the
sheriff. He's agreed. You have to meet the action of the Grand Jury,
anyhow; you couldn't leave the county; and you're better off in jail
while I go back to New York to rustle money."

"Oh--you're going, are you?"

"To-night. You couldn't leave the county even if you were out on bond.
The sheriff's a square man; he'll treat you right; you'll have a chance
to get shut of that insomnia, and right here's the safest place in Pima
County for you. I want a letter to that cousin of yours in Abingdon."

"'Tisn't Abingdon--it's Vesper. And I'm not particularly anxious to tell
him that I'm in jail on a felony charge."

"Don't want you to tell him--or anybody. I suppose you've told your girl
already? Yes? Thought so. Well, don't you tell any one else. You tell
Cousin Oscar I'm your pardner, and all right; and that you've got a mine,
and you'll guarantee the expenses for him and an expert in case they're
not satisfied upon investigation. I'll do the rest. And don't you let
anybody bail you out of jail. You stay here."

"If I hadn't seen you perform a miracle or two before now, I'd see you
damned first!" said Stan. "But I suppose you know what you're about. It's