The worthy colonel had not been content with a single glass of whisky, but had followed it up several times, till his utterance had become thick, and his face glowed with a dull, brick-dust color.

Col.  Warner had been assigned to the adjoining chamber, or closet, whichever it may be called.  He did not retire early, however, while Herbert and George Melville did.

Strangely enough, Herbert, who was usually so good a sleeper, after a short nap woke up.  He turned to look at his companion, for it was a moonlight night, and saw that he was sleeping quietly.

“I wonder what’s got into me?” he thought; “I thought I should sleep till morning.”

He tried to compose himself to sleep, but the more effort he made the broader awake he became.  Sometimes it seems as if such unaccountable deviations from our ordinary habits were Heaven-sent.  As Herbert lay awake he suddenly became aware of a conversation which was being carried on, in low tones, in the next room.  The first voice he heard, he recognized as that of the colonel.

“Yes,” he said, “some of the passengers have got money.  There’s that Stiefel probably carries a big sum in gold and notes.  When I was speaking of the chance of the stage being robbed, he was uncommon nervous.”

“Who’s Stiefel?” was growled in another voice, which Herbert had no difficulty in recognizing as the landlord’s.

“Oh, he’s the fat, red-faced German.  From his talk, I reckon he’s come out to buy mines somewhere in Colorado.”

“We’ll save him the trouble.”

“So we will—­good joke, John.  Oh, about this Stiefel, he carries his money in a belt round his waist.  I infer that it is gold.”

“Good!  What about the others?”

“There’s a tall, thin man—­his name is Parker,” proceeded the colonel; “he’s smart, or thinks he is; you’ll have to pull his stockings off to get his money.  Ha, ha!”

“How did you find out, colonel?” asked the landlord, in admiration.

“Drew it out of him, sir.  He didn’t know who he was confiding in.  He’ll wonder how the deuce his hiding place was suspected.”

Other passengers were referred to who have not been mentioned, and in each case the colonel was able to tell precisely where their money was kept.

“How about that milksop that wouldn’t drink with us?” inquired the landlord, after a while.

“Melville?  I couldn’t find out where he keeps his cash.  Probably he keeps it in his pocket.  He doesn’t look like a cautious man.”

“Who’s the boy?”

“Only a clerk or secretary of Melville’s.  He hasn’t any money, and isn’t worth attention.”

“Very glad to hear it,” thought Herbert.  “I don’t care to receive any attention from such gentry.  But who would have thought the colonel was in league with stage robbers?  I thought him a gentleman.”

Herbert began to understand why it was that Col.  Warner, if that was his real name, had drawn the conversation to stage robbers, and artfully managed to discover where each of the passengers kept his supply of money.  It was clear that he was in league with the landlord of the Echo Gulch Hotel, who, it was altogether probable, intended to waylay the stage the next day.