“Here she is,” Allen said. “Not as nifty as some I’ve seen, but she serves the purpose.” He looked at Nick. “You been to a minin’ camp before?”
“Once—a long time ago. Don’t remember much about it. Why?”
“Thought you looked familiar, that’s all. Now here’s the plan. I figger on cartin’ this stuff to the flivver now, fixin’ the wheel an’ tires, an’ headin’ out. I’ll leave the rest of this stuff right here—” he waved his hand at the tent—“because I’ll be comin’ back.”
“Where’s the gold?” Nick inquired.
Again the man looked at him sharply. Then he laughed.
“You interested in that, hey? Well, there she lays.” He pointed to a heavy box in the corner of the tent. It had a padlock thrust through two heavy staples.
“In there,” Allen went on. He walked to the box, knelt, and unlocked it. “Have a look!”
Nick bent over eagerly. Within the box were many bags, bulging with rock. Certain it was that they would be too many for one man to carry, at least without every one’s noticing it.
“We’ll divide ’em up an’ get goin’,” Allen stated. “I’ll take the wheel.” There was an auto wheel lying against the side of the tent, and he thrust his arm through the spokes. “Put the bags in your pockets—we don’t want the whole camp to know what we’re doin’.”
“Right.”