"I will pay ye, boss. Why, it opens up bigger'n that Castleville Bank shelled out a year ago, and I ain't hardly cracked the ground yet."
The banker had become suddenly pale.
He was a man with long hair, and wore a mustache and goatee, and was altogether a good-looking man.
"What do you mean?" he asked, huskily, striving hard to remain composed. "Where is Castleville? What do you suppose I know about any bank business at Castleville?"
"Castleville? Why, they closed the bank, you know, and set out to remove the funds to 'Frisco, but Captain Joaquin got wind of it and held up the train and scooped the pile. Not only that, but it is believed that he murdered a detective about the same time."
"A detective?"
"Yes; a chap they called Deadwood Dick."
The man's face had grown paler, and he was eyeing the caller sharply.
"Well, all that is nothing to me," he declared. "I will go with you to-morrow morning, start at eight o'clock."
"And then I'll show you the richest thing you ever saw in your life, if Captain Joaquin don't gobble it mean time and get away with et— Why, what's the matter?"