“Thompson!” he yelled.
“Here!” was the answer, as a small, gray-bearded man in shirt sleeves advanced a step or two from the door.
“Fetch me that roll from your safe, will you?”
“Right!”
As Thompson disappeared within the store, Huntington turned again toward the cowboys.
“A thousand dollars––cash!” he repeated.
Larkin leaned forward on his horse, and looked at him shrewdly.
“Seems to me it’s not the horse you’re after so much as him,” he said, with a grin and a nod toward the road.
“That’s as may be,” retorted Huntington. “Money talks.”