“I guess the Saint’s going to have a swell night,” he said. “Mister Cy’ll be along in the morning to replenish his dollar reserves. Can you beat these boys who come easy by the stuff lying around the creeks? Haf a highball under their belts and the good air of the hills blown out of their vitals, and they’re as ready to pass on their stuff as an elderly, new-made widow-woman.”
But McLagan and the dry goods boy were paying no heed to the banker’s reflections. They were talking earnestly in a low tone, and when they had finished, Soo made a somewhat hurried departure.
“Where’s he gone?” asked Burns, when McLagan returned to his side.
“To hunt up Max.”
“Why?” The banker’s keen eyes had sobered, and a sharp look of doubt accompanied his interrogation.
McLagan indicated the table at which Claire presided.
“What d’you know of Cy Liskard?” he asked, curtly.
“Not a thing. He’s a customer at the bank, that’s all. He’s on pay dirt and hit it good.”
“Where?”
“Don’t know.”