each watched the other, every move, every moment.
It was as they made their way slowly down to the coast that Blake put an unexpected question to Binhart.
"Connie, where in hell did you plant that haul o' yours?"
This thing had been worrying Blake. Weeks before he had gone through every nook and corner, every pocket and crevice in Binhart's belongings.
The bank thief laughed a little. He had been growing stronger, day by day, and as his spirits had risen Blake's had seemed to recede.
"Oh, I left that up in the States, where it 'd be safe," he answered.
"What 'll you do about it?" Blake casually inquired.
"I can't tell, just yet," was Binhart's retort.
He rode on silent and thoughtful for several minutes. "Jim," he said at last, "we 're both about done for. There 's not much left for either of us. We 're going at this thing
