“I’m up yer, examining into it, for the Express.”

“Lost much?” asked Rawlins.

“Not so much ez they might hev.  That fool Harkins had a hundred thousand dollars in greenbacks sealed up like an ordinary package of a thousand dollars, and gave it to a friend, Bill Guthrie, in the bank to pick out some unlikely chap among the passengers to take charge of it to Reno.  He wouldn’t trust the Express.  Ha! ha!”

The dead, oppressive silence that followed his empty laughter made it seem almost artificial.  Rawlins held his breath and looked at Clinch.  Hale, with the instincts of a refined, sensitive man, turned hot with the embarrassment Clinch should have shown.  For that gentleman, without lifting his eyes from the fire, and with no apparent change in his demeanor, lazily asked—­

“Ye didn’t ketch the name o’ that passenger?”

“Naturally, no!  For when Guthrie heard what was said agin him he wouldn’t give his name until he heard from him.”

“And what was said agin him?” asked Clinch musingly.

“What would be said agin a man that give up that sum o’ money, like a chaw of tobacco, for the asking?  Why, there were but three men, as far ez we kin hear, that did the job.  And there were four passengers inside, armed, and the driver and express messenger on the box.  Six were robbed by three!—­they were a sweet-scented lot!  Reckon they must hev felt mighty small, for I hear they got up and skedaddled from the station under the pretext of lookin’ for the robbers.”  He laughed again, and the laugh was noisily repeated by his five companions at the other end of the room.

Hale, who had forgotten that the stranger was only echoing a part of his own criticism of eight hours before, was on the point of rising with burning cheeks and angry indignation, when the lazily uplifted eye of Clinch caught his, and absolutely held him down with its paralyzing and deadly significance.  Murder itself seemed to look from those cruelly quiet and remorseless gray pupils.  For a moment he forgot his own rage in this glimpse of Clinch’s implacable resentment; for a moment he felt a thrill of pity for the wretch who had provoked it.  He remained motionless and fascinated in his chair as the lazy lids closed like a sheath over Clinch’s eyes again.  Rawlins, who had probably received the same glance of warning, remained equally still.

“They haven’t heard the last of it yet, you bet,” continued the infatuated stranger.  “I’ve got a little statement here for the newspaper,” he added, drawing some papers from his pocket; “suthin’ I just run off in the coach as I came along.  I reckon it’ll show things up in a new light.  It’s time there should be some change.  All the cussin’ that’s been usually done hez been by the passengers agin the express and stage companies.  I propose that the Company should do a little cussin’ themselves.  See?  P’r’aps you don’t mind my readin’ it to ye?  It’s just spicy enough to suit them newspaper chaps.”