Cutter, a rising hope in
his breast that at last his superior had made good, went to the trunk
in the corner. Del Rio shrugged and remained silent.
Cutter began tumbling out upon the floor an assortment of clothing,
evincing little respect for the Mexican's finery. Suddenly, when his
hands had gone to the bottom, he sat back upon his heels, a leaping
light in his eyes.
"Caught with the goods on, by God!" he cried. "Look here, Struve!"
He had whipped out a canvas bag which gave forth the chink of gold.
Another came after it. And across each bag was stamped "Packard
Springs Bank."
Del Rio's eyes had wandered a moment to Cutter and the evidence. Then
they came back to Norton, filled with black malevolence. One did not
need to understand the southern language to grasp the meaning of the
words muttered under his breath.
Within the half-hour Strove, Cutter, and Engle had apologized to
Norton; after this, they promised him to keep their hands off and their
mouths shut.
That evening Virginia and Norton sat long together on Struve's veranda.
There was more silence than talk between them. Norton seemed
abstracted; the girl was plainly constrained, anxious, and found it
difficult to keep her mind upon the thin thread of conversation joining
their occasional remarks.
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