"Twelve thousand," he murmured. "We ain't but once before got that much."

The elder, pulling the gunny sack from his neck, dropped it into one of
the oil cans, pressing it against the sides like a lining.

"I can get the ranch now; six thousand'll cover everything."

"Are you honestly calculatin' to do that?" Knapp had reached for the
other can. With arm outstretched, he looked at Garland, gravely curious.

"I am. I told you so before. I had a look at it again last week. They'll
sell for four thousand, and it'll take five hundred to put it into shape.
I'll bank the rest."

"And you'll quit?"

"Certain. I've had enough of the road."

The younger man pondered, watching the hands of his partner fitting the
money bags into the can. "Mebbe you got the right idea," he muttered.

"It's the right idea for me. I'm not what I once was, I'm old. It's time
for me to lay off and rest. I can't keep this up forever and now I got
the chance to get out and I'm goin' to."

He had filled his can and rose, taking off his coat and throwing it on
the ground. Picking up the knife and chisel he went back to where the
bulrushes began and crushed in among them. Knapp, packing the other can,
could hear the sound of his heavy movements, the hacking of the knife at
the bulrush stalks and then the thud of falling earth. When he had filled