"That's Bolsa Boquete," announced the deputy named Phil. "I never went through it."
"What's it mean—the name?"
"Boquete's gap. Bolsa's money—not jest the same as dinero. It's the word they have on the bank winders down in Mexico. Exchange."
"Money Gap? That don't tell us a thing," said Jordan. "But I'll bet my star they've gone through it all right. We ought to be not much more'n an hour behind them."
"They're on about us getting the papers," said Plimsoll. He had not said much on the trip so far. "Too much talk nowadays. You can't whisper in a dugout but what the news is all over the county inside of twenty minutes. Bourke sabes that getting the girl out of the county won't do any good; he aims to get her out of the state and any Arizona court or sheriff jurisdiction. He's the brains of the outfit. We've got to get her, Jordan."
"You ain't tellin' me a thing I don't know, Jim. But there's one thing you can tell me. Is that tip you got about Dynamite a sure one?"
Plimsoll, sitting beside Jordan, flashed him a look of contempt.
"Do you think I'm chasing this girl because I'm stuck on her? One of the party with this eastern crowd dropped into my place and talked. Showed some samples and I had a good look at them. He happened to leave a bit or two behind and I had them assayed. Here is where I get back the money I put up to grubstake Casey."
Jordan gave him a grin of derision.
"You an' yore grubstake," he jeered.