Rathburn’s eyes had narrowed and hardened; his words were cold and menacing––deadly in their absolute sincerity.
“What––what do you mean?” stammered the mines manager.
“I take it you’re not deaf,” snapped out Rathburn. “Maybe you don’t know it, Sautee, but so help me, you’re takin’ a chance by acting like you didn’t get me.”
Sautee’s thin face was twitching in a spasm of commingled rage and fear.
“The Coyote!” he breathed.
“Who told you that?” demanded Rathburn on the instant.
Sautee gripped the sides of his chair, and his face went a shade more pallid.
“Carlisle,” he confessed in a strained voice.
Rathburn laughed, and the mines manager shivered as he heard.
“Now, Sautee, we’ll quit beatin’ around the bush,” Rathburn said through his teeth. “We’ll get down to business together, or I’ll begin to search your place here. But if I have to search, I’ll search alone. There ain’t so much chance of a shot bein’ heard way up the street; an’ there ain’t much chance of me bein’ caught on that hoss of mine if I don’t want to get caught. Also, I’m beginning to feel like I was in a hurry. Fork over that money!”