Jim Waring of Sonora-Town | Page 9

the minute I came in. I want you
fellows to hear it."
Donovan flung his half-smoked cigar to the floor and lighted a fresh
one. Waring's attitude irritated him. Officially, Donovan was Waring's
superior. Man to man, the Sonora gunman was Donovan's master, and
the Irishman knew and resented it.
He tried a new tack. "Glad to see you back, Jim." And he rose and
stuck out a sweating hand.
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. The money had been stolen from him.
Waring pulled up a chair and leaned his elbows on the table. Quigley
unscrewed the cap of the canteen. A stream of sand shot across a map.
The assistant started to his feet. Quigley shook the canteen and poured
out a softly clinking pile of gold-pieces. One by one he sorted them
from the sand and counted them.
"One thousand even. 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. Jim, here, is not so dam' particular."
"No, or I wouldn't be on your pay-roll," said Waring.
Donovan laughed. "Let's get down to bed-rock, Jim. I'm paying you
your own price for this work. The Eastern office thinks I pay too high. I
got a letter yesterday telling me to cut down expenses. This last holdup
will make them sore. Here's the proposition. I'll keep you on the
pay-roll and charge this thousand up to profit and loss. Nobody knows
you recovered this money except Williams, and he'll keep still. Quigley
and you and I will split it--three hundred apiece."
"Suppose I stay out of the deal," said Waring.
"Why, that's all right. I guess we can get along."
Quigley glanced quickly at Waring. Donovan's proposal was an insult
intended to provoke a quarrel that would lead to Waring's dismissal
from the service of the Ortez Mines. Or if Waring were to agree to the
suggestion, Donovan would have pulled Waring down to his own level.
Waring slowly rolled a cigarette. "Make out my check," he said,
turning to Quigley.
Donovan sighed. Waring was going to quit. That was good. It had been
easy enough.
Quigley drafted a check and handed it to Donovan to sign. As the
paymaster began to gather up the money on the table, Waring pocketed
the check and rose, watching Quigley's nervous hands.
As Quigley tied the sack and picked it up, Waring reached out his arm.

"Give it to me," he said quietly. Quigley laughed. Waring's eyes were
unreadable.
The smile faded from Quigley's face. Without knowing just why he did
it, he relinquished the sack.
Waring turned to Donovan. "I'll take care of this, Bill. As I told you
before, you can't bluff worth a damn."
Waring strode to the door. At Quigley's choked exclamation of protest,
the gunman whirled round. Donovan stood by the desk, a gun weaving
in his hand.
"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."
Donovan grabbed the telephone and called up the Sonora police.

Chapter IV
The Silver Crucifix When in Sonora, Waring frequented the Plaza Hotel.
He had arranged with the management that his room should always be
ready for him, day or night. The location was advantageous. Nearly all
the Americans visiting Sonora and many resident Americans stopped at
the Plaza. Waring frequently picked up valuable bits of news as he
lounged in the lobby. Quietly garbed when in town, he passed for a
well-to-do rancher or mining man. His manner invited no confidences.
He was left much to himself. Men who knew him deemed him

unaccountable in that he never drank with them and seldom spoke
unless spoken to. The employees of the hotel had grown accustomed to
his comings and goings, though they seldom knew where he went or
definitely when he would return. His mildness of manner was