reed to quit. Brevoort was the older
man, and Pete had rather relied on his judgment. Now he felt that
Brevoort's companionship would eventually become a menace to their
safety.

"Let's get back to the room, Ed," he suggested as they came out of the
saloon.

"Hell, we ain't seen one end of the town yet."

"I'm goin' back," declared Pete.

"Got another hunch?"--and Brevoort laughed.

"Nope. I'm jest figurin' this cold. A good gambler don't drink when
be's playin'. And we're sure gamblin'--big."

"Reckon you're right, pardner. Well, we ain't far from our blankets.
Come on."

The proprietor of the rooming-house was surprised to see them return so
soon and so unauspiciously. He counted out Brevoort's money and gave
it back to him.

"Which calls for a round before we hit the hay," said Brevoort.

The room upstairs was hot and stuffy. Brevoort raised the window,
rolled a cigarette and smoked, gazing down on the street, which had
become noisier toward midnight. Pete emptied the pitcher and stowed
the wet sacks of gold in his saddle-pockets.

"Told you everything was all right," said Brevoort, turning to watch
Pete as he placed the saddlebags at the head of the bed.

"All right, so far," concurred Pete.

"Say, pardner, you losin' your nerve? You act so dam' serious. Hell,
we ain't dead yet!"

"No, I ain't losin' my nerve. But I'm tellin' you I been plumb scared
ever since I seen that picture. I don't feel right, Ed."

"I ain't feelin' so happy myself," muttered Brevoort, turning toward
the window.

Pete, sitting on the edge of the bed, noticed that Brevoort's face was
tense and unnatural. Presently Brevoort tossed his cigarette out of
the window and turned to Pete. "I been thinkin' it out," he began
slowly. "That hunch of yours kind of got me goin'. The best thing we
kin do is to get out of this town quick. We got to split--no way round
that. We're all right so far, but by to-morrow they'll be watchin'
every train and every hotel, and doggin' every stranger to see what
he's doin'. What you want to do is to take them sacks, wrap 'em up in
paper, put ole E. H. Hodges's name on it--he's president of the
Stockmen's Security Bank here, and a ole pal of The Spider's--and pack
it over to the express company and git a receipt. _They'll_ sure git
that money to the bank. And then you want to fan it. If you jest was
to walk out of town, no'th, you could catch a train for Alamogordo,
mebby, and t