Jim stood looking silently at the corpse on the ground, his face peculiarly unperturbed. He stepped over to Phil and put his arm comfortingly over his shoulder.
“Well, old man! his sins have found him out at last. He had to come back to it,––a thief always does. He’s got the last hair out of the dog that bit him.
“Brace up, old fellow! I hate to ask you to handle him, but––well––the hate part of it is gone now.”
Phil recovered himself and quietly assisted Jim in adjusting the rope round the great, limp body.
They did not shout their discovery to those above, but left the surprise of it to the arrival.
But they had to wait some time and had to shout several times before the rope was lowered by the half-stupefied men above.
Jim and Phil loosened the saddlebags from the dead horse. These were stuffed to overflowing with bills of all denominations; seemingly the entire theft from the Commercial Bank.
One after the other, each carrying a bag, Phil and Jim were pulled up on to the roadway.
“The dirty, two-faced son-of-a-gun!” was the only remark made, and it came from Howden. No other words were necessary, for that phrase expressed their opinions concretely.