Again there was a pause.
"Well," said Apache Kid, finally, ending his reverie. "The fact is that we—Donoghue and I—except upon occasion, when we want to make some sort of a character for ourselves, to show a visible means of support,—the fact is, we are——"
"Spit it out," said Donoghue. "Spit it out. It ain't everybody has the courage to be."
I considered what was coming.
"The fact is," said Apache Kid, "we are what they call in this country road-agents—make our living by holding up stage-coaches and——"
"By gum! we 've held up more nor stage-coaches," cried Donoghue, and began fumbling in an inner pocket with eager fingers.
"And banks," said Apache Kid, gazing on me to see the effect of this disclosure.
Donoghue stretched across to me, his loose face gleaming with a kind of joy.
"Read that," he said. "Read what that says;" and he handed me a long newspaper cutting.
What I read on the cutting was: