"Who's they?" asked Red, and looked steadily into the mouth of Terry's
gun.
"Why, them that wants my money. Money that I slaved and worked for all my
life! Oh, I know they's a lot of crooked thieves that would like to lay
hands on it. But I'm going to fool 'em, Red. Never lost a cent of money
in all my born days, and I ain't going to form the habit this late in
life. I got too much to live for!"
And he went on his way muttering.
"Ready!" said Denver.
"Red," whispered Terry, "how's the money put into the safe?"
The big, red-haired fellow fought him silently with his eyes.
"I dunno!"
"Red," said Terry swiftly, "you and your friend are a dead weight on us
just now. And there's one quick, convenient way of getting rid of you.
Talk out, my friend. Tell us how that money is stowed."
Red flushed, the veins in the center of his forehead swelling under a
rush of blood to the head. He was silent.
It was Pat who weakened, shuddering.
"Stowed in canvas sacks, boys. And some paper money."
The news of the greenbacks was welcome, for a large sum of gold would be
an elephant's burden to them in their flight.
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