"A big, fat check, that won't do him nor us any good," replied Carson.
"Check!" Fraser laughed sarcastically. "Check? He allus used to have a check, after delivery; but he ain't got one now. He's got bills, wads an' wads of bills. Quite some over six thousand, I reckon, in bills. I saw his pockets bulgin', an' I wondered why he didn't take a check, same as usual. I wanted to make shore, so I did some scoutin' up around th' ranchhouse last night—I saw 'em. Wads, an' wads. I was shore tempted."
Carson was looking off toward Pine Mountain, an evil expression on his face, and he moved restlessly. "There's only one reason for that," he muttered, and turned to his companion. "Are you still thinkin' of a gamble?" he demanded, all thought of cattle out of his mind. "Th' herd money is shore worth while—what you say about it?"
"I was sort of turnin' it over in my head," Fraser admitted "It's a lot of money; a powerful lot of money for one man to tote."
"It'll still be a lot of money if it's split in two," suggested Carson. "Do you figger he's goin' to bank it? All that cash? Why didn't he take a check? Why did he change, just when things was gettin' worse down here all th' time?"
"I don't know; but he's allus been purty white to me."
"Has he been three thousand dollars' worth?" asked Carson, smiling evilly. "I'm figgerin' he's lettin' us hold th' sack, that's what I'm figgerin'. An' if he don't come back, who's goin' to sign checks for our pay? We're losin' our share of all them mavericks. There won't be no nice bunch of cattle goin' up th' trail for us fellers, not now. But there's one whoppin' big bunch of cash goin' up a trail for us, if we go after it. How's yore nerve? What's th' use of playin' for buttons, when there's bills to be had?"
"If I reckoned he was goin' to bank that money I wouldn't touch it, not if I was shore he was comin' back to stick with th' ranch," muttered Fraser. "But I reckon he's throwed us down. I reckon we're holdin' th' sack, all right. An' if he aims to keep it, then we has as much right to it as he has. Cuss him! he's chicken-livered! Come on: I'm with you," and he led the way into the house to get some of his personal belongings.
"He's got a start on us, an' a cussed good hoss," growled Carson as they hastened to the corral. "We can't save nothin' by cuttin' across, neither."