"Yes. And we'll have to hole up somewhere till we git some store-clothes—and change our looks—and mebby our luck, which is runnin' bad right now."
"Do we split up when we hit town?" queried Pete.
"We got to: and you want to git rid of that there cash just as quick as you kin. Got any of your own money on you?"
"Got a couple of month's pay. You got the tickets. I'll give you that."
"Forget it! Small change don't count right now. Awhile back I was thinkin' of puttin' it up to you that we split the big money and take a little pasear up to Alaska, where it ain't so warm. The Spider dassent squeal to the law, bein' in bad hisself. We could sure make a get-away with it. But that there telegraph done settled that deal."
"It was settled afore that, Ed."
"Meanin' you wouldn't split, anyhow?"
"That's what."
"But it's crooked money, Pete. And it ain't lucky. Supposin' we get caught? Who gits the money? The Spider, or Arguilla's bunch, or you or me? Not on your life! The cops get it—and keep it."
"That's all right. But if I git through, these here pesos goes to that bank. Anyhow, you said it ain't lucky money. So I aim to git away from it pronto. Then I'm square with The Spider—and I quit."