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"So you're a friend of Dunke, that damned double-crosser! He's a

millionaire, you think, a big man in this Western country. That's

what he claims, eh?" Struve shook a fist into the air in a mad

burst of passion. "Just watch me blow him higher'n a kite. I know

what he is, and I got proof. The Judas! I keep my mug shut and do

time while he gets off scot-free and makes his pile. But you

listen to me, ma'am. Your friend ain't nothin' but an outlaw. If

he got his like I got mine he'd be at Yuma to-day. Your brother

could a-told you. Dunke was at the head of the gang that held up

that train. We got nabbed, me and Jim. Burch got shot in the

Catalinas by one of the rangers, and Smith died of fever in

Sonora. But Dunke, curse him, he sneaks out and buys the officers

off with our plunder. That's what he done--let his partners get

railroaded through while he sails out slick and easy. But he made

one mistake, Mr. Dunke did.