close to him, speaking in a vibrant whisper:

"Anyone in the house with you? If you speak above a whisper I'll blow
you apart!"

"I'm alone!" gasped Maison.

Sanderson laughed lowly. "You must have known I was comin'. Did you
expect me? Well--" when Maison did not answer--"you left the rear door
open. Obliged to you.

"You know what I came for? No?" His voice was still low and vibrant.
"I came to talk over what happened at Devil's Hole."

Maison's eyes bulged with horror.

"I see you know about it, all right. I'm glad of that. Seven men
murdered; three thousand head of cattle gone. Mebbe they didn't all go
into the quicksand--I don't know. What I do know is this: they've got
to be paid for--men an' cattle. Understand? Cattle an' men."

The cold emphasis he laid on the "and" made a shiver run over the
banker.

"Money will pay for cattle," went on Sanderson. "I'll collect a man
for every man you killed at Devil's Hole."

He laughed in feline humor when Maison squirmed at the words.

"You think your life is more valuable than the life of any one of the
men you killed at Devil's Hole, eh? Soapy was worth a hundred like
you! An' Sogun--an' all the rest! Understand? They were real men,
doin' some good in the world. I'm tellin' you this so you'll know that
I don't think you amount to a hell of a lot, an' that I wouldn't suffer
a heap with remorse if you'd open your trap for one little peep an' I'd
have to blow your guts out!"

A devil of conscience had finally visited Maison--a devil in the flesh.
For all the violent passions were aflame in Sanderson's face, repressed
but needing only provocation to loose them.

Maison knew what impended. But he succeeded in speaking, though the
words caught, stranglingly, in his throat:

"W-what do you--want?"

"Ninety thousand dollars. The market price for three thousand head of
cattle."

"There isn't that much in the vaults!" protested Maison in a gasping
whisper. "We never keep that amount of money on hand."

He would have said more, but he saw Sanderson's grin become bitter; saw
the arm holding the six-shooter stiffen suggestively.

Maison raised his hands in horror.

"Wait!" he said, pleadingly. "I'll see. Good God, man, keep the
muzzle of that gun away!"

"Ninety thousand will do it," Sanderson grimly told him, "ninety
thousand. No less. You can ask that God you call on so reckless to
have ninety thousand in the vault when you go to loo