“I expected they’d shut us off in the south,” snapped out Lamy. “You gave ’em plenty of time.”
“We just naturally had to rest our horses,” observed Rathburn. “As it is, they’re not good for far, nor for any fast riding. Besides, I’ve changed my mind some since this morning.”
“So? I suppose you’re goin’ to give me a chance?” sneeringly inquired the other.
He could see Rathburn’s eyes in the twilight, and suddenly he shifted in his saddle uneasily. For Rathburn’s gaze had narrowed; and it shot from his eyes steel blue with a flash of fire. His face 60 had set in cold, grim lines. The whole nature of the man seemed to undergo a change. He radiated menace, contempt, cold resentment. The corners of his mouth twisted down sharply. His voice, as he spoke now, seemed edged like a knife.
“Lamy, hand over that money!”
Lamy’s brows lifted in swift comprehension; a look of cunning came into his eyes––was followed by a gleam of hope, not unmixed with derision. He thrust his hands into his coat pockets and held out bills and silver to Rathburn who stuffed the plunder into his own pockets.
“That all of it?” demanded Rathburn sharply. He made no effort to temper the tones of his voice.
For answer Lamy dug into his trousers’ pockets, under his chaps, and produced two more rolls of bills.
“That’s the chunk,” he said with a sneering inflection in his voice. “If you want I’ll stand a frisk.”
“No, I won’t search you. I take it you’re too sensible to lie!”