Part 4 (1/2)

Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigley unscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map.

The a.s.sistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and poured out a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted them from the sand and counted them.

”One thousand even. Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?”

”Did I?” queried Waring.

”Well, you got the mazuma,” said Quigley. ”And that's good enough for me.”

Donovan stepped to the table. ”Williams, I won't need you any more to-day.”

The a.s.sistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair.

”Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waring returned the money. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular.”

”No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll,” said Waring.

Donovan laughed. ”Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you your own price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I got a letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdup will make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on the pay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. n.o.body knows you recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigley and you and I will split it--three hundred apiece.”

”Suppose I stay out of the deal,” said Waring.

”Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along.”

Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insult intended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal from the service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to the suggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level.

Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. ”Make out my check,” he said, turning to Quigley.

Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been easy enough.

Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed the check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands.

As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm.

”Give it to me,” he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were unreadable.

The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did it, he relinquished the sack.

Waring turned to Donovan. ”I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you before, you can't bluff worth a d.a.m.n.”

Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest, the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving in his hand.

”You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me,” said Waring. ”Never throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill.”

The door clicked shut.

Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. ”By cripes!” he flamed suddenly. ”I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzer like that on me!”

”I'd go slow,” said Quigley. ”You don't know what kind of a game Waring will play.”

Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police.

Chapter IV