No one made any comments. Dangling the bag of money on one hand, Bad News led the way into the dark bank. Some one found a lamp and lighted it. The vault of the Medicine Tree Bank was merely a big safe, and now its formidable front door hung drunkenly open from a heavy charge of explosive.
“Don’t touch anythin’,” advised Cultus. “Send somebody for the bank officials.”
“That’s right,” agreed Bad News. “Somebody go after John Freeman.”
A man ran out through the rear.
“F’r Gawd’s sake, look what we’ve got here!” exploded Tommy Simpson.
It was Alden Marsh, a smear of blood down one side of his face, sitting limply in a chair. He was minus his pants and one boot. His eyes stared blankly at the lamp, which was held in front of him.
“Can yuh beat that?” wondered Ole. “The robber wasn’t satisfied with a gunnysack of money, so he took Marsh’s pants and one boot.”
“What were you doin’ in here?” asked Bad News.
Alden mumbled something unintelligible and licked his lips.
“Where’s yore pants?” asked Tommy.