It may have been true, as the train robber had just said, that
time was more valuable to him then than money, but if so he must
have held the latter of singularly little value. For he sat him
down on the counter with his back against the wall and his legs
stretched full length in front of him and glanced over the Tucson
Star in leisurely fashion, while Pat's arms still projected
roofward.

The operator, beginning to get over his natural fright, could not
withhold a reluctant admiration of this man's aplomb. There was a
certain pantherish lightness about the outlaw's movements, a trim
grace of figure which yet suggested rippling muscles perfectly
under control, and a quiet wariness of eye more potent than words
at repressing insurgent impulses. Certainly if ever there was a
cool customer and one perfectly sure of himself, this was he.

"Not a thing in the Star to-day," Pat's visitor commented, as he
flung it away with a yawn. "I'll let a thousand dollars of the
express company's money that there will be something more
interesting in it to-morrow."

"That's right," agreed the agent.

"But I won't be here to read it. My engagements take me south.
I'll make a present to the great Lieutenant O'Connor of the
information. We're headed south, tell him. And tell Mr. Sheriff
Collins, too--happy to entertain him if he happens our way. If it
would rest your hands any there's no law against putting them in
your trousers pockets, my friend."