That was a good place for turtle eggs, because the sand was hotter there sooner than anywhere else. It was a sort of cleared place without many trees or bushes, all soft sand and not very far from the ferry road. So we walked along down the Slough and pretty soon we came to a skiff pulled up on the shore. I was nearest, so I jumped into it; but Swatty didn't. He said:
“Garsh! You'd better get out of that skiff. Some feller has just left that skiff there, because his footprints on the bow seat ain't dry yet. If he came back and seen us playing in his skiff he'd like as not give us good and plenty!”
And that was right, because when a feller rows over from town or anywhere he don't like kids to fool with his skiff; because if the skiff got away how could he get back to town? So if they catch you in their skiffs they bat you a good one. So I got out of the skiff and Swatty went on ahead, and me and Bony followed; and we come to the sandy place by the powder house.
A powder house is a little square shack about as big as a closet, covered with sheet iron and painted red for danger. This was the only one on the Illinois side, but there were two more on the Iowa side, up the river from town a good ways; and the reason they were so far from town was because the wholesale grocers sold powder, but the city didn't allow them to keep any inside the city limits. When they sold some they sent over to get it. The powder houses were painted with big letters to say Danger! and that nobody must shoot at them or build a fire near them, or they might explode. So that was why this one was in the middle of the sandy place sand can't burn like grass does.
So we come through the bushes to where we could see the powder house and we all stopped short right there, for there was Slim Finnegan coming out of the powder house with a bag over his shoulder, with what anybody could tell was an iron powder keg in it. As soon as we saw him he saw us and we dodged back into the bushes and ran. We ran pretty far, and then we stopped and listened and didn't hear anything; so we hid down behind a log and waited. We knew that if Slim Finnegan found us he'd stab us or something. Anyway, we thought he would. Me and Bony did. I guess Swatty did too.
After we had waited what seemed like a couple of hours—but I guess it was about half a minute—Swatty put his head up above the log and looked, and didn't see anything. Then he got up and went round the log and started to go back to the powder house. Bony didn't say anything, because he was too scared, but I yelled, “Swatty! Swatty!” in a whisper, because I wanted him to come back; but he just turned and motioned us to be still, and he went on. He walked as careful as he could. Pretty soon he came back and dropped down behind the log again.
“It's Slim Finnegan, all right,” he said—only he said “orl right,” like he always does; “and he's stealing a keg of powder”—only he said it sort of like “kerg of powder.”
“What'd you see, Swatty?” I whispered.
“I seen him shift the bag from one shoulder to the other,” Swatty said, “and I could see the ridges on the keg, all right! If we wanted to we could tell the police and they'd put him in jail.”
“Aw, don't, Swatty!” I said. “If you do that he'll wait until he gets out and then he'll stab all of us. Aw, don't tell the police, Swatty!”