“You know, I suppose, that McGowan is determined to find out what becomes of the bullion he has been losing.” “It is but natural,” returned Jacobs, drumming on the chair-arms with his fingers. Significant glances passed between himself and Bernritter. “You’re running out a bar of cyanid bullion this morning, aren’t you?” queried Bernritter. “Yes,” answered Jacobs, wondering why the super had so abruptly mentioned the cyanid bullion. “Is the bar out of the mold? Is it cool enough to handle?” “It is. Why?” “I’ll tell you in a moment. Just now there is a bit of quick work for you to do. I am expecting McGowan back from Phœnix at any moment, and I am expecting that Dutchman, who has been in camp for the last few days, to pull out as soon as he can break away from Frieda. What I want you to do, Jacobs, is _to take that bar of cyanid bullion and put it in the Dutchman’s saddle-bags_!” Jacobs sprang up excitedly. “Why----” he began, but was impatiently interrupted by Bernritter. “Put the bar of bullion in the saddle-bags, and don’t let any one see you. Then come back here and I’ll explain.” Jacobs’ face was now reflecting some of the alarm and fear which had been shown in the super’s. He hesitated a moment, then turned, left the office, and hastened back to the laboratory. He was back in less than five minutes. “It is done, Bern,” he announced, in a low voice. Bernritter looked toward the chuck-shanty. The Dutchman, all unsuspicious of the treachery just done him, was still talking with Frieda at the chuck-shanty door. Bernritter drew a long breath of relief. “Do you know why McGowan went to Phœnix, Jacobs?” he asked. “No.” “Well, the man called Buffalo Bill is in Phœnix. Buffalo Bill is an Indian-fighter. McGowan suspects that an organized gang of Apaches, in some manner, is looting the Three-ply of its bullion. He is going to ask Buffalo Bill to help him locate the red thieves, and capture them.” “But this Buffalo Bill is employed by the government,” said Jacobs, his brown face growing pale. “He would not leave his government work to help McGowan on a job that manifestly belongs to the sheriff of the county.” “You can’t tell, any more than I can, what Buffalo Bill will do!” said Bernritter sharply. “The governor is a friend of McGowan’s, and Buffalo Bill is a friend of the governor’s. If the governor asks Buffalo Bill to do this for McGowan, the chances are that Buffalo Bill will get on the job. If he _does_----” Bernritter ground his teeth. “What--if he does?” came from Jacobs. “It’s all day with you and me, Jacobs,” finished Bernritter; “we should have to make a getaway at once, and get over into Sonora. I don’t want to leave here until we make our big clean-up. Then we can clear out with plenty of gold.” Jacobs fell back in his chair and breathed hard. “What about the Dutchman?” he asked. “His name is Schnitzenhauser, isn’t it?” “Something like that.”