Home! the word stung sharply through Jeff's benumbed consciousness.
“No,” he stammered, “that is—”
“Look here, Jeff,” broke in the young man, “I've got a chance for you that don't fall in a man's way every day. Wells, Fargo & Co.'s treasure messenger from Robinson's Ferry to Mempheys has slipped out. The place is vacant. I reckon I can get it for you.”
“When?”
“Now—to-night.”
“I'm ready.”
“Come, then.”
In ten minutes they were in the company's office, where its manager, a man famous in those days for his boldness and shrewdness, still lingered in the dispatch of business.
The young clerk briefly but deferentially stated certain facts. A few questions and answers followed, of which Jeff heard only the words “Tuolumne” and “Yuba Bill.”
“Sit down, Mr. Briggs. Good-night, Roberts.”