He paused to draw a deep breath and his big hands trembled over the blaze. Anson leaned forward, like a serpent ready to strike, and Jim Wilson was as tense with his divination of the plot at hand.
“See here,” panted Beasley. “The girl's due to arrive at Magdalena on the sixteenth. That's a week from to-morrow. She'll take the stage to Snowdrop, where some of Auchincloss's men will meet her with a team.”
“A-huh!” grunted Anson as Beasley halted again. “An' what of all thet?”
“She mustn't never get as far as Snowdrop!”
“You want me to hold up the stage—an' get the girl?”
“Exactly.”
“Wal—an' what then?”
“Make off with her.... She disappears. That's your affair. ... I'll press my claims on Auchincloss—hound him—an' be ready when he croaks to take over his property. Then the girl can come back, for all I care.... You an' Wilson fix up the deal between you. If you have to let the gang in on it don't give them any hunch as to who an' what. This 'll make you a rich stake. An' providin', when it's paid, you strike for new territory.”
“Thet might be wise,” muttered Snake Anson. “Beasley, the weak point in your game is the uncertainty of life. Old Al is tough. He may fool you.”
“Auchincloss is a dyin' man,” declared Beasley, with such positiveness that it could not be doubted.