It was a bright, starry night, warm and quiet, and it was nine o’clock, when the driver brought the car to a halt before the Huntington ranch. Coates sprang out and was presently pounding on the front door.
“Who’s there? That you, Ray?” shouted Tyler from inside.
“Yes. Open up! Everything’s jake. We’re on our way.”
The next moment the door was thrown open and Coates entered, gazing in amazement at his partner, grim of face, six-shooter in hand. Back of him, in the hall, stood Lemuel, his sunburned, leathery cheeks yellow with alarm, his eyes bulging wildly.
“See anybody outside?” asked Tyler.
“Only the driver of the machine. What’s eating you anyhow? You look like you been shot at and missed.” He chuckled roughly.
“Yeh? Well, come on in the kitchen and I’ll show you something’ll make your hair curl.” Turning the key in the lock, Tyler led the way toward the rear of the house. On the oil-cloth covered table lay a soiled old envelope containing a lead-pencil scribble. He picked it up and handed it to Coates, who read:
I jest cum to take my saddle an bags an pack off the 20,000 that you dicks aint bin able to find. After this better close the window so folks cant lissen. An dont show yore nose outside cos Im shootin tonite.
Coates stared at his colleague, the yellow lamplight showing his face drawing into hard, cruel lines. A furious curse burst from him. “Billy Gee!” he shouted.
“Yes, damn him!” growled Tyler. “Half an hour ago I heard a knock out front. I thought it was you coming back. That’s what I found shoved under the door.” He indicated the envelope. “While we were quizzing the old duffer, like a coupla rummies, Billy was getting an earful at the window. Kids us about it, you’ll notice.”