The heavy jar had knocked the chimney off the lamp in Bad News’s little office, and had shaken them enough so that they realised something was wrong.
“Earthquake,” declared Bad News. “I’ve felt ’em lotsa times.”
“Nothin’ like it,” objected Ole. “That was dinnymite, I tell yuh.”
They went outside and looked around. Several men were out on the sidewalk in front of the War Dance, talking loudly over what it might have been. A man left the post office and started up the street, but stopped in front of the bank. After a few moments he came back down the street to where the three men were grouped in front of Bad News’s office. He was the blacksmith.
“One of the bank winders is busted,” he said. “Glass all over the sidewalk up there.”
He spoke loud enough for the men in front of the War Dance to hear it, and they strung out across the street, heading for the bank. This information seemed to sober Bad News immediately.
“C’mon!” he snapped, and started running up the street.
Cultus Collins had felt the jar in the hotel, and he came down to the street in time to join the crowd at the front of the bank. Speculations were rife, when he reached the crowd. Bad News tested the front door and found it locked.
“Let’s try the back door,” suggested some one, and the crowd filed through the dark alley.
The rear door of the bank was open, and a few feet away from it they found Blaze Nolan, lying flat on his face. He had been hit over the head, but was regaining consciousness. Clutched in his hands was an old gunnysack, which Bad News took away from him, by the light of matches, and they found it heavy with a mixture of gold, silver and currency.