“What kind of a looking box?” asks Muley.
“Wooden box with two ends and four sides. Regular dynamite box.”
“Well described,” applauds Muley. “All we got to find is a wooden box, with two ends and four sides.”
Art Miller comes back in about an hour for some things of Telescope’s, and we talks it over with him.
“Must ’a’ been Telescope or the party what held her up that other time,” says he. “The feller that me and Chuck fussed around with didn’t have no limp.”
“Maybe the exercise that you and Chuck gave him made him stiff and sore,” I suggests, and Art grins. “Maybe. Funny thing about that hold-up. After that feller helps himself he must ’a’ scared that team, ’cause they runs away and scatters things all the way up to ‘Mighty’ Jones’ place, where they smashes a front wheel on a stump and stops.
“Ricky says there was a box of dynamite from the Golden Cross, the same of which he holds careful in the seat. He said that he was meek when held up, ’cause he was afraid that feller might shoot into that box. That box is a goner, and it’s a wonder it didn’t blow that outfit to thunder—unless that’s the treasure-box.”
Art pilgrims back towards town, and we all starts for the corral.
“Where yuh going?” asks Muley.
“After some dynamite dough,” says all three of us together.