ght thousand a
month out of it. That'll take care of a little loss on the goods, if
necessary. I'm not sure a loss is necessary."

"And how much, about, are the goods?" I inquired softly.

"Oh, I don't know. Somewhere between ten and twenty thousand, I
suppose."

"Paid for how, and when?"

"One third cash, and the rest in notes. The interest out here is rather
high," said Talbot regretfully.

"Where do you expect to get the money?" I insisted.

"Oh, money! money!" cried Talbot, throwing out his arms with a gesture
of impatience. "The place is full of money. It's pouring in from the
mines, from the world outside. Money's no trouble!"

He fell into an intent reverie, biting at his short moustache. I arose
softly to my feet.

"Johnny," said I, in a strangled little voice, "I've got to give back
McGlynn's change. Want to go with me?"

We tiptoed around the corner of the building, and fell into each other's
arms with shrieks of joy.

"Oh!" cried Johnny at last, wiping the tears from his eyes. "Money's no
trouble!"

After we had to some extent relieved our feelings we changed my gold
slug into dust--I purchased a buckskin bag--and went to find McGlynn.
Our way to his quarters led past the post-office, where a long queue of
men still waited patiently and quietly in line. We stood for a few
moments watching the demeanour of those who had received their mail, or
who had been told there was nothing for them. Some of the latter were
pathetic, and looked fairly dazed with grief and disappointment.

The letters were passed through a small window let in the adobe of the
wall; and the men filed on to the veranda at one end and off it at the
other. The man distributing mail was a small, pompous, fat Englishman. I
recognized McGlynn coming slowly down with the line, and paid him half
the dust in my bag.

As McGlynn reached the window, the glass in it slammed shut, and the
clerk thrust a card against it.

"_Mails close at 9 P.M._"

McGlynn tapped at the glass, received no attention, and commenced to
beat a tattoo. The window was snatched open, and the fat clerk, very
red, thrust his face in the opening.

"What do you want?" he demanded truculently.

"Any letters for John A. McGlynn?"

"This office opens at 8:30 A.M." said the clerk, slamming shut the
window.

Without an instant's hesitation, and before the man had a chance to
retire, McGlynn's huge fist crashed through the glass and into his face.

The crowd h