But what did happen was that on the following afternoon, timing themselves so that they would arrive in camp late at night, David and Hank drove away with the man from Wallula and Mrs. Mills knew that on the next day Goliath was to make the same journey with the partners’ mules and buckboard. Also that if she feared to be left alone she could accompany him and visit the camp for which she had no very pleasant recollections.
The “Real-Estate-and-Specialty-in-Mining-Properties” office of Thomas Shaughnessy stood at almost the end of the business portion of the main street, modestly, inconspicuously, as befitted a place of such importance that sooner or later all must visit it. It was later—much later—at nearly three o’clock in the morning when David visited it, while Hank kept a watchful eye up Main Street for the solitary night watchman who seldom strolled that far because frequent visits were not necessary, and—Wallula paid his wages because Shaughnessy had so dictated. David, being a very amateur burglar, had a bunch of door keys big enough to open the doors of a city, all of which he had purchased at the county seat. Patiently he tried about twenty keys before he found one that opened the rear door of Shaughnessy’s office after which, carefully using an electric torch, he pulled down the shades over the front window and with an air of relief went into Shaughnessy’s rear office and made straight for the letter files.
He paid not the slightest attention to the small safe in the corner, but did pay much to the letter files. For a time he began to fear that what he sought could not be found and then, with a chuckle of satisfaction, came to a compartment, made the correspondence therein into a roll, and pocketed it before returning the letter file to the exact position in which he had originally found it. Cautiously he put the shades up again, cautiously passed out of the rear door and with the same caution locked it. Five minutes later he and Hank were slipping through the back streets to the cabin of a friend which had been put at their disposal during its owner’s absence, and there, safe, secure, unalarmed, they gloated over their theft.
Shaughnessy on the following day was unaware that he was under constant espionage; that the espionage became more rigid as dusk fell; that it continued while he ate his lonely meal in a restaurant and made a tour of various resorts where it was his custom to be seen for a short time; and, most of all, that there were certain individuals who were gleeful and declared that luck had played their way when he returned to his office alone at nine o’clock of the autumn evening. He was seated at his desk in his private office when the door opened almost noiselessly and he looked up to see two visitors. The first, a short, red-headed man, grinned sardonically as he said, “Hello, Tom. Glad to find you alone. Didn’t expect us, I reckon.”
“No, of course not, and don’t know that I care to see either of you, as far as that goes,” the boss growled, leaning back in his chair and wondering what misfortune was about to disclose itself. Always unexpected meetings with these two partners had been attended with misfortune. Misfortune seemed to have become a habit where they were involved.
“No use in getting nasty or fussed up about it, Tom,” the smaller man declared with the utmost amiability. “We never look you up because we like you. You know that.”
“Well, what have you come for this time?” Shaughnessy demanded after a moment’s hesitation in which he recovered himself and appeared as cool as if he had neither fears nor apprehensions.
“Why, we’ve come to help you out, just for a change,” David replied as he deliberately seated himself in a chair on the opposite side of Shaughnessy’s desk and motioned Goliath to close and guard the door. “We’ve come to sell you Number Two above discovery on Torren’s Gulch and—Shaughnessy, we’ve talked it over and we think you’re going to pay for it just”—he stopped, leaned forward and with a hard tapping finger to punctuate his sentence said—“seventy-five-hun-dred dollars!”
For an instant any connection between those figures and the amount lost in the stage robbery and so peculiarly recovered did not seem to penetrate Shaughnessy’s mind, and then, veteran gambler and expert dissembler as he was, his face turned slowly red, then white. His eyes lowered themselves under the motionless, fixed, and boring scrutiny of the steel-gray eyes that stared at him unblinkingly, menacingly, mockingly.
“What’s—what has—why seventy-five hundred dollars, and—and how do you happen to cut in on this deal anyhow? You don’t own that mine!” he exclaimed.