They followed along in caution till they came to a truck on the rails capable of holding twenty sacks of flour or feed at a time.
On either side of them were walls of sacked flour and other grain.
“The Lord only knows how far this underground warehouse extends,” remarked Jim, “and how many thousands of dollars worth of stuff is cached away in it, ready to haul away as the chance comes along.”
They passed on until they must have been under Brenchfield’s warehouse, when the tunnel dead-ended, branching off to the right and to the left.
Jim stopped.
“That’s about all,” he said. “Brenchfield’s warehouse is above us. The Pioneer Traders’ is at the end that way. The O.K. Supply Company’s is at the other end.
“See! There is a trap door in each, like this up here, that drops inward and acts as a chute for sliding down the stuff right onto the track. Simplest thing on earth, and it has been going on for years with devil a body the wiser.”
“Well!––of all the elaborate thieving schemes!” exclaimed Phil, dumbfounded.
“Elaborate nothing! Why, man, thousands and thousands of dollars worth of feed and flour have been stolen from these three places in the last five years––as much as ten thousand dollars at a crack.