"That'll be enough from you now, Phil," said the old ex-Confederate
good-naturedly, leading him toward the house and trying to soothe his
malevolent chagrin.
Bellamy turned and rode away. At the corner of the corral he met Jack
Flatray riding up.
"Been having a little difference of opinion with our friend, haven't you,
seh?" the deputy asked pleasantly.
"Yes." Bellamy gave him only the crisp monosyllable and changed the
subject immediately. "What about this stage robbery? Have you been able to
make anything of it, Mr. Flatray?"
"Why, yes. I reckon we'll be able to land the miscreant mebbe, if things
come our way," drawled the deputy. "Wouldn't it be a good idea to offer a
reward, though, to keep things warm?"
"I thought of that. I made it a thousand dollars. The posters ought to be
out to-day on the stage."
"Good enough!"
"Whom do you suspect?"
Jack looked at him with amiable imperturbability. "I reckon I better
certify my suspicions, seh, before I go to shouting them out."
"All right, sir. Since I'm paying the shot, it ought to entitle me to some
confidence. But it's up to you. Get back the twenty thousand dollars,
that's all I ask, except that you put the fellow behind the bars of the
penitentiary for a few years."
Flatray gave him an odd smile which he did not understand.
"I hope to be able to accommodate you, seh, about this time to-morrow, so
far as getting the gold goes. You'll have to wait a week or two before
the rest of your expectations get gratified."
"Any reasonable time. I want to see him there eventually. That's all."
Jack laughed again, without giving any reason for his mirth. That ironic
smile continued to decorate his face for some time. He seemed to have some
inner source of mirth he did not care to disclose.