uld be
within easy reach, by the way!--so that the camera could "register" it?

At ten minutes past twelve he had gotten rid of patrons and clerks, and
he had the gold out and his green eyeshade adjusted as becomingly as a
green eyeshade may be adjusted. He looked out and saw that the street
was practically empty, because of the hour and the heat that was almost
intolerable where the sun shone full. He saw a big red machine drive up
to the corner and stop, and he saw a man climb out with camera already
screwed, to the tripod. He saw the bandits throw away their cigarettes
and follow the camera man, and then he hurried back and took up his
station beside the stacks of gold, and waited in a twitter of excitement
for this unhoped-for encore of last Wednesday's glorious performance.
Through the window he watched the camera being set up, and he watched
also, from under his eyeshade, the approach of the two bandits.

From there on a gap occurs in the cashier's memory of that day.

Ramon and Luis went into the bank, and in a few minutes they came out
again burdened with bags of specie and pulled the door shut with the
spring lock set and the blinds down that proclaimed the bank was closed.
They climbed into the red automobile, the camera and its operator
followed, and the machine went away down the street to the post-office,
turned and went purring into the Mexican quarter which spreads itself
out toward the lower bridge that spans the Rio Grande. This much a dozen
persons could tell you. Beyond that no man seemed to know what became of
the outfit.

In the bank, the cashier lay back across a desk with a gag in his mouth
and his hands and feet tied, and with a welt on the side of his head
that swelled and bled sluggishly for a while and then stopped and became
an angry purple. Where the gold had been stacked high in the sunshine
the marble glistened whitely, with not so much as a five-dollar piece
to give it a touch of color. The window blinds were drawn down--the bank
was closed. And people passed the windows and never guessed that within
there lay a sickly young man who had craved adventure and found it, and
would presently awake to taste its bitter flavor.

Away off across the mesa, sweltering among the rocks in Bear Canon,
Luck Lindsay panted and sweated and cussed the heat and painstakingly
directed his scenes, and never dreamed that a likeness of his voice had
beguiled the cashier of the Bernalillo County Bank into co