“Pant,” he murmured.
“It’s me, Johnny.” The boy’s hand touched him.
Johnny was dumfounded. “How’d they get you?”
“Beaned one of them cops, I did. Saw ’em glom onto you. Wanted t’ horn in with you.”
“Guess you horned in once too often,” said Johnny huskily. “This is a death-watch we’re keeping, and it’s for ourselves.”
“We better blow the coop then.”
“If we can.”
“We can.” Pant’s tone was decided and convincing.
For some time after that the two boys spoke of their experiences since last they met.
“You see, I got it cached out yonder three hills and a hike outside this burg. She’ll tip the beam at a century weight and a half, maybe more. All pure gold, you bet. And it’s all for the little Russian kids, every bit. I ain’t held back a copper.”