In the little front office of the jail, Rathburn looked with interest
at some posters on the walls. One in particular claimed his
attention, and he read it twice while the deputy was getting some keys
and calling to the jailer, who evidently was on the other side of the
barred door where the few cells and the "tank" were.

This is what Rathburn read:

REWARD

Two thousand dollars will be paid for the capture of the bandits
who are responsible for the robberies of Dixie Mine messengers in
the last few months.

DIXIE MILLING & MINING CO.,
George Sautee, Manager.

Rathburn now knew exactly what Carlisle had meant when he had referred
to the Dixie pay-roll taking wings. He had, however, suspected it. The
holdup of the truck driver also was explained. Rathburn smiled. It was
a peculiar ruse for the mines manager to resort to. Could not the
pay-roll be sent to the mines under armed guard? Rathburn's eyes were
dreamy when he looked at the deputy.

"All right, in you go," said Mannix, as the jailer unlocked the heavy,
barred door from the inside.

He led Rathburn to one of the single cells, of which there were six on
one side of the jail room proper.

"Maybe you'll be ready to talk in the morning," he said, as he locked
his prisoner in.

"Morning might be too late," Rathburn observed, taking tobacco and
papers from his shirt pocket.

"What do you mean by that?" Mannix asked sharply.

"I might change my mind."

"About talking, eh? Well, we'll find a way to make you change it back
again."

"You're a grateful cuss," said Rathburn, grinning.

Mannix scowled. It was plain he was not sure of his man, although he
was trying to convince himself that he was.

"I don't get you," he said growlingly.

"No? Didn't you hear that fellow Carlisle say I saved your life by not
drawing?"

"He'd have got you if you'd tried to draw. That's what he thought you
was going to do. You saved your skin by grabbing the floor."

Rathburn wet the paper of his cigarette and sealed the end. "I'm
wondering," he mused, as he snapped a match into flame, with a thumb
nail and lit the weed.

"It's about time," said the deputy grimly.

"I'm wondering," said Rathburn, in a soft voice, exhaling a thin
streamer of smoke, "if he'd have got me."

Mannix grunted, looked at him curiously, and then turned abruptly on
his heel