“Yuh ever see a Roman batterin’-ram?” Allen asked.
“Roman batterin’-ram?” the sheriff queried in return.
“He’s funnin’ us,” the storekeeper insisted.
But one glance at the little outlaw’s face convinced him Allen was serious.
“Waggle yuhr ears, gents, and I’ll learn yuh what erudition, as Toothpick calls it, does for an hombre.” Allen grinned at the tall cow-puncher, then told them of his scheme to break in the door.
“She sure works!” Sam Hogg cried, a few minutes later. He gave a whoop and sent his Stetson sailing into the air. Then all at once he grew silent and stared at Allen. A sinister thought had come to him.
“I figure we’ll get in, but they’ll shoot yuh to bits,” he said.
“Not any. I’m so darn small I ain’t easy to hit, an’ I’ll keep moving constantly,” Allen said cheerfully.
He stepped up to the ore wagon, which was just over the crest of the hill, and out of sight of those in the fortress.
“Yuh take the box off, take that boom off the derrick by the mouth of the mine and rig her up, and yuh’ll have a Roman batterin’-ram that’ll bust that there door to splinters,” he said.