“This also is good—as far as it goes,” he remarked. “The order for the bullion came with this?”
“Yes.”
“And you lads sent me a telegram yesterday?”
“You can bet your roll-top desk against a copper cent we did. If you knew how we had to work to get that telegram off to you, you’d rather think we sent it.”
This, of course, was from the cowboy.
“Where was the message sent from?”
“From Stoughton, Massachusetts. Turn that letter over, neighbor, and you’ll find a copy of the message on the back of it.”
The cashier read the copy.
“That’s good circumstantial evidence, Mr. McGlory,” said he, handing the letter to the cowboy, “and you can have the colonel’s gold whenever you come after it. Will you take it now?”
“The meeting of the syndicate is called for to-night, at the office of Random & Griggs,” said McGlory, “and I don’t want those two bars until the last thing before the bank closes at three o’clock. That bullion has caused trouble enough, and I’m putting up my fences against any more.”