He laughed in feline humor when Maison squirmed at the words. "You think your life is more valuable than the life of any one of the men you killed at Devil's Hole, eh? Soapy was worth a hundred like you! An' Sogun--an' all the rest! Understand? They were real men, doin' some good in the world. I'm tellin' you this so you'll know that I don't think you amount to a hell of a lot, an' that I wouldn't suffer a heap with remorse if you'd open your trap for one little peep an' I'd have to blow your guts out!" A devil of conscience had finally visited Maison--a devil in the flesh. For all the violent passions were aflame in Sanderson's face, repressed but needing only provocation to loose them. Maison knew what impended. But he succeeded in speaking, though the words caught, stranglingly, in his throat: "W-what do you--want?" "Ninety thousand dollars. The market price for three thousand head of cattle." "There isn't that much in the vaults!" protested Maison in a gasping whisper. "We never keep that amount of money on hand." He would have said more, but he saw Sanderson's grin become bitter; saw the arm holding the six-shooter stiffen suggestively. Maison raised his hands in horror. "Wait!" he said, pleadingly. "I'll see. Good God, man, keep the muzzle of that gun away!" "Ninety thousand will do it," Sanderson grimly told him, "ninety thousand. No less. You can ask that God you call on so reckless to have ninety thousand in the vault when you go to look for it, right away. "Get up an' dress!" he commanded. He stood silently watching the banker as the latter got into his clothing. Then, with a wave of his gun in the direction of the stairs he ordered Maison to precede him. He kept close to the banker in the darkness of the rooms through which they passed, and finally when they reached the little room into which opened the big doors of the vault--embedded in solid masonry--Sanderson again spoke: "I want it in bills of large denomination." The banker was on his knees before the doors, working at the combination, and he looked around in silent objection at Sanderson's voice. "Big ones, I said," repeated the latter. "You've got them. I was in Silverthorn's rooms some hours ago, lookin' over his books an' things. I saw a note there, showin' that he'd deposited fifty thousand here the day before yesterday. The note said it was cash. You'll have forty thousand more. If you ain't got it you'll wish you had." Maison had it. He drew it out in packages--saffron-hued notes that he passed back to Sanderson reluctantly. When he had passed back the exact amount he looked around. Sanderson ordered him to close the doors, and with the banker preceding him they returned to the upper room, where Sanderson distributed the money over his person securely, the banker watching him. When Sanderson had finished, he again spoke. There was elation in his eyes, but they still were aflame with the threat of death and violence.