Again Wilbur stopped.  He swept the moisture from his forehead—­and his fist, clenched, came down upon the desk.

“You see the game!”—­there was bitter anger in his voice now.  “You see the game!  He wanted to get me in deep enough so that I couldn’t wriggle out, deeper than ten thousand that I could get at any time on my insurance, he wanted me where I couldn’t get away—­and he got me.  The first ten thousand wasn’t enough.  I went to him for a second, a third, a fourth, a fifth—­hoping always that each would be the last.  Each time a new note, a demand note for the total amount, was made, cancelling the former one.  I didn’t know his game, didn’t suspect it—­I blessed God for giving me such a friend—­until this, or, rather, yesterday afternoon, when I received a telegram from my manager at the mine saying that he had struck what looked like a very rich vein—­the mother lode.  And”—­Wilbur’s fist curled until the knuckles were like ivory in their whiteness—­“he added in the telegram that Thurl had wired the news of the strike to a man in New York by the name of Markel.  Do you see?  I hadn’t had the telegram five minutes, when a messenger brought me a letter from Markel curtly informing me that I would have to meet my note to-morrow morning.  I can’t meet it.  He knew I couldn’t.  With wealth in sight—­I’m wiped out.  A demand note, a call loan, do you understand—­and with a few months in which to develop the new vein I could pay it readily.  As it is—­I default the note—­Markel attaches all I have left, which is the mine.  The mine is sold to satisfy my indebtedness.  Markel buys it in legally, upheld by the law—­and acquires, robs me of it, and—­”

“And so,” said Jimmie Dale musingly, “you were going to shoot yourself?”

Wilbur straightened up, and there was something akin to pathetic grandeur in the set of the old shoulders as they squared back.

“Yes!” he said, in a low voice.  “And shall I tell you why?  Even if, which is not likely, there was something reverting to me over the purchase price, it would be a paltry thing compared with the mine.  I have a wife and children.  If I have worked for them all my life, could I stand back now at the last and see them robbed of their inheritance by a black-hearted scoundrel when I could still lift a hand to prevent it!  I had one way left.  What is my life?  I am too old a man to cling to it where they are concerned.  I have referred to my insurance several times.  I have always carried heavy insurance”—­he smiled a little curious, mirthless smile—­“That has no suicide Clause.”  He swept his hand over the desk, indicating the papers scattered there.  “I have worked late to-night getting my affairs in order.  My total insurance is fifty-two thousand dollars, though I couldn’t borrow anywhere near the full amount on it—­but at my death, paid in full, it would satisfy the note.  My executors, by instruction would pay the note—­and no dollar from the mine, no single grain of gold, not an ounce of quartz, would Markel ever get his hands on, and my wife and children would be saved.  That is—­”