“Your informant was badly mistaken, then. I am not very wise, perhaps, in worldly matters, but I certainly am not such a fool as to keep so large a sum of money in a lonely cabin like this.”
“Perhaps not so much as that,” returned Lane. “I don't pretend to say how much you have. That is for you to tell us.”
George Melville drew from his pocket a wallet, and passed it to the outlaw.
“Count the money for yourself, if you wish,” he said. “You can verify my statement.”
Lane opened the wallet with avidity, and drew out the contents. It was apparent at the first glance that the sum it contained was small. It was counted, however, and proved to amount to forty-seven dollars and a few silver coins.
The two robbers looked at each other in dismay. Was it possible that this was all? If so, they would certainly be very poorly paid for their trouble.
“Do you expect us to believe, Mr. Melville,” said Jerry Lane, sternly, “that this is all the money you have?”
“In this cabin—yes.”
“We are not so easily fooled. It is probably all you carry about with you; but you have more concealed somewhere about the premises. It will be best for you to produce at once, unless you are ready to pass in your checks.”
“That means,” said Melville, growing pale in spite of himself, for he knew from report the desperate character of his guests, “that means, I suppose, that you will kill me unless I satisfy your rapacity.”