"A little."
"How much?"
"Maybe ten or twelve dollars."
"Maybe you've got more. You know you never were good at figures. Lemme look."
He looked. From one of Jack Murray's hip pockets he withdrew a plump leather poke that gave forth a jingling sound. A search of the inner pocket of the vest produced a thin roll of greenbacks. But the bills were all of large denominations.
"There," said Billy, "I knew you'd made a mistake in addition, Jack. You count what's here, Miss Walton."
He tossed the greenbacks and the heavy poke into the lap of the girl who was now sitting up cross-legged, her back against the rock.
"Sixteen hundred and twelve dollars and sixty-five cents," announced Hazel a few minutes later.
"How much did your mules cost?" queried Billy.
"Five hundred and a quarter the team," was the prompt reply.