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.