“You think he can’t slide out?” suggested Matt, doubtfully. “He’s a crafty devil.”
“If he wants to risk breaking a bone or two jumping out of the window, let him try,” said Scott, easily. “How’s Williams?”
“Pretty good. No bones broke and Mrs. Van bandaged him up. He’s sore as the devil about his stuff.”
“We got a good deal of it back. We’ll run the car down to the store and see just what we did get.” And Scott related Polly’s adventure with much enjoyment.
“She’s a mighty game youngster,” declared O’Grady, admiringly. “I didn’t know they raised ’em like that in the East.”
“I’ll swear I didn’t. Lucky for His Nobs she didn’t let a bullet into him by mistake.”
“Oh, I don’t know. It’s a case of ‘eventually, why not now?’”
A search of the machine revealed the more important part of the loot—the money taken from the safe in the office, Williams’ cash box, and a good many firearms, blankets and small items. Horses, saddles, bridles, canned goods and innumerable other effects had been carried off by the horseback riders, never to be regained, unless, as Scott suggested, Pachuca could be traded off for them. And, of course, the mine would have to be closed down until more workers could be obtained, rather an improbable thing in the present state of the country.
“What beats me is, how did you happen to think of it?” demanded O’Grady of Polly a little later as they sat around the dining-room table eating a hastily improvised supper.
Polly chuckled. “Well, you see,” she said, modestly, “we’ve been having a lot of auto hold-ups in Chicago this winter and one of them happened to a friend of mine.