The other men there asked a few questions, their manner as hopeless as Delkin's. They were the directors and other officers of the bank, and Bud sensed their feeling of helplessness before this calamity. The body of the cashier had been removed, and these were staying on the scene simply because they did not know what else to do. "How's the bank? Cleaned out?" Bud was still conscious of his own personal responsibilities. "Everything." Delkin waved an apathetic hand. "We're so far from other banks, and Charlie slept right here--so in spite of the fact that we sometimes didn't have more than a dozen customers in here all day, we kept more cash on hand than was safe. At least we had more on hand right now than usual. With the bookkeeper sick, Charlie was alone here part of the time. Near closing time especially. So few people came in, along in the afternoon. We did most of our business during the forenoons." He moistened his lips and looked away. "It looks as if Charlie had just set the time lock and was getting ready to close the vault when--it happened. Another half hour, perhaps, and they'd have had to blow open the vault, and some one would have heard. Maybe five minutes before you came--I can't see how they got away without being seen." "Well, I can't do any more to-night, Mr. Delkin. My horse and I are both about all in. Of course you 'phoned for the sheriff." "Right after it happened. He'll be here with a posse of his own before morning." Outside Bud almost collided with young Brunelle, who caught him by the arm with an impulsive gesture. "I recognized your horse. Come over to our cabin, won't you, Mr. Larkin? You see I've discovered what your name is. I've been watching for you to come back, for I knew you'd be hungry; and Marge--my sister Margaret--has supper all ready for you. We're pretty lonely," he added wistfully. "People here seem to be very clannish and cool toward strangers." "That's because they're roughnecks and know it," said Bud, and picked up the reins of his horse. "If you'll wait until I put my horse in the stable I'll be right with you. Only I'm liable to clean you out of grub if I once start eating. There's over six feet of me, Lightfoot, and I'm all hollow." "That'll be all right," smiled the other. "It's yours while it lasts--and that may not be long if the bank is really closed for good. We haven't any money to buy more." Delkin's hostler took charge of the Meadowlark horse and the two men walked on to where a light shone through a cabin window, set back from the main street in an open space that gave a close view of the bluff. Bud very likely did not grasp the imminent poverty of his host, probably because he was not paying much attention to his last sentence; and that his ready acceptance of the invitation to supper was caused chiefly by a too intimate knowledge of the hotel cuisine.