Big Medicine nodded slowly and shifted his hands.
“And these two strange men, Ike. What did they look like?”
“I didn’t see ’em close, boss. One was tall and kinda limped; the other wasn’t so tall.”
“All right, Ike.”
The cowboy uncoiled and clumped outside. Big Medicine took a crumpled letter from inside his blanket and looked at it. The cowboy had brought it from Pinnacle. He seemed interested in a few lines, which read:
I am sending you the $20,000 by express, in a plain package. The valuation is just enough to have it carried in their safe, but not enough to tempt anyone to steal it.
Big Medicine put the paper back into his shirt and closed his eyes again. The black cat seemed to ooze off the table onto his lap, and one of his big hands caressed its head. A door creaked open and an Indian woman came softly down the hall to the living-room door.
She was a big woman, past middle age, with the stolid features of her race. Her calico dress was ill-fitting, but clean. Big Medicine lifted his head and looked at her for a long time before he said:
“Somebody held up stage last night, Lucy.” The squaw merely stared at him unmoved.
“My money was on that stage,” he told her. “It was much money—all we had. I was goin’ to buy half of the Yellow King Mine with that money.”