What you’re doin’ ain’t
jest crazy . . . it’s plain suicide!
“What’s the catch?”
“The catch?” Traven’s voice revealed his growing excitement now. He spun the coin in the air, caught it, then passed it to Anderson. “That! There’s a strongbox stuffed with twenty thousand dollars’ worth of those gold coins, hidden out in the San Paulo Wasteland and just waitin’ to be collected.”
He leaned back in the chair, big hands clenched tight on the armrests as Anderson flipped the double eagle to Lomax.
“That’s the catch. You’re to ride into the Wasteland, collect that gold for me and bring it back here — and your jobs on Cross T are secure for life. Now I’m not gonna sit here and say which one of you my Charity is gonna pick when the time comes. Maybe she won’t pick either of you. But I reckon I don’t have to spell it out that if one of you is workin’ here on the spread and the other is off someplace else, then the feller on the spot would have the inside runnin’.” He spread his hands. “That’s the catch . . . so what’s your answer?”