Angus nodded gloomily, cursing his own folly. Why had he been such a fool to carry nearly twenty-four hundred dollars in his pocket? He had fully intended to deposit it in the safe, but had neglected to do so. Now it was gone, and naturally he was responsible.
"I guess we were," he agreed. "You didn't recognize any of them, of course?"
"No. Too dark. I say, Mackay, this is beastly rotten luck."
"Worse than that for me. I'll have to make good."
"Yes, 'fraid you will. I say—you'll pardon me, I'm sure—but in the expressive idiom of the country, will it throw a crimp into you to do it?"
"Will it?" Angus replied grimly. "I have no more than three hundred dollars in the bank, and it keeps me scratching gravel with both feet to make ends meet on the ranch and pay what I have to pay. It puts me in a devil of a hole, if you want to know."
"Hard lines!" Chetwood sympathized. "In the breezy phraseology of the country, it's sure hell. But buck up, old chap! Let me be your banker."
"You mean you'll lend me the money?" Angus exclaimed.
"Like a shot."
"Are you that strong?"