He tore open the official envelope and thrust a sheaf of bills into the astonished cowboy's hands.
"Money talks," he observed sententiously, "only there're some people have such a roarin' in the ears they can't hear it. This roll of velvet is what's left from the tax sale of those Monkey-wrench cows I seized, and it says that you are a capitalist, with all the errors and prejudices of your class. Just put that into cows now, and look after 'em, and you'll forget all about the revolution."
"Hell's fire!" ejaculated Pecos, shutting down on the money. "You don't mean to say this is all mine?"
"That's right. I tried to give it to you last Fall, up there at Verde Crossing, but you heard the wind in your ears, clean to New Mexico. Guess your conscience was kind of troublin' you, hey?"
"Umm," answered Pecos absently. He was studying on how to spend his money. For several minutes he sat thumbing over the new bills and gazing out into the twilight; then he jammed them deep into his pocket and started for the door.
"Hey! Where you goin'?" shouted Boone Morgan, as he clattered down the steps. "Come back here and get this property envelope! You must've had an idee," he ventured, as Pecos reappeared.
"Yep," said Pecos, "an' a good one." He dumped the contents of his envelope on top of the desk and regarded the articles fixedly. There, sparkling brightly as when he first bought it, was the eighteen-carat, solitaire-diamond engagement-ring.
"That ought to come in pretty handy now," suggested the sheriff, pointing to it with the butt of his cigar.
"Nope," replied Pecos noncommittally, "too late now."
"That's bad," commented Boone Morgan sociably. "Mighty pretty girl, too. All off, hey?"