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Where'd you overtake Vaca and his outfit?" "Did I?" queried Waring. "Well, you got the mazuma," said Quigley. "And that's good enough for me." Donovan stepped to the table. "Williams, I won't need you any more to-day." The assistant rose and left the office. Donovan pulled up a chair. "Never mind about that receipt, Quigley. You can witness that Waring returned the money.
Waring swung the canteen from his shoulder and carefully hung the strap over Donovan's wrist. "There's your money, Bill. Count it and give me a receipt." Donovan, with the dusty canteen dangling from his arm, looked exceedingly foolish. Waring turned to Quigley. "Bill's got a stroke," he said, smiling. "Quigley, give me a receipt for a thousand dollars." "Sure!" said Quigley, relieved.
If he acquits 'Tonio, whom in God's name does he suspect?" asked Strong, a queer thought occurring to him as he recalled the furious words of the deserter Dooley, alias Quigley, another prisoner to be tried. Bright dodged.
Three men sat in the office of the Ortez Mines, smoking and saying little. Donovan, the manager; the paymaster, Quigley; and the assistant manager, a young American fresh from the East. Waring's name was mentioned. Three days ago he had ridden south after the bandits. He might return. He might not. "I'd like to see him ride in," said Donovan, turning to the paymaster.
He knew that he would waste no end of time trying to track the vanished horse across such a land as this; he saw only foolhardiness in leaving the trail he had had picked out for him and, with little food and no knowledge of water, turning out across an utterly unknown land of forbidding desolation. He judged roughly that Desert Valley was as near as Quigley.
'Which you gave me for natural love and affection. ''Deed, then 'twas because you were poor an' motherless in a strange land, but now the gold's a worry to you, I doubt. Jim laughed and shook his head. 'I want a loaf, he said. 'My mate is hungry and waiting. 'Heigho! sighed Aurora; 'devil a scrap of gallantry have these slips of boys, Quigley!
Quigley made an effort to rise, but collapsed, and was lifted into his corner, and freely sprayed and towelled by his seconds. Jim sat unmoved, while Mike and an aristocratic digger, known as the Prodigal, fanned him with the towels Mrs. Kyley had thoughtfully provided. Quigley came up again at the call.
Pike clawed the Elsinore off the lee-shore of the Horn; and Boney the Splinter, following, washed overboard to drown as we cleared the sea- gashing rock-tooth where the southern tip of the continent bit into the storm-wrath of the Antarctic; and the big-footed, clumsy youth of a Finnish carpenter, hove overside as a Jonah by his fellows who believed that Finns control the winds; and Mike Cipriani and Bill Quigley, Rome and Ireland, shot down on the poop and flung overboard alive by Mr.
Suspicion of the Quigley mines robbery had turned at first toward del Rio. But he had established an alibi. So had Galloway. So had Antone and the Kid. "There is nothing to do but wait," Norton insisted. "It won't be long now." She saw Norton often; what did she think? Was he on the verge of a collapse? Was he physically fit? "All of this criticism hurts him," said the banker thoughtfully.
"You ought to know better than to pull a gun on me," said Waring. "Never throw down on a man unless you mean business, Bill." The door clicked shut. Donovan stood gazing stupidly at Quigley. "By cripes!" he flamed suddenly. "I'll put Jim Waring where he belongs. He can't run a whizzer like that on me!" "I'd go slow," said Quigley. "You don't know what kind of a game Waring will play."
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