“What’s wrong, Slim?” he asked abruptly.
“Wrong?” Slim rubbed his nose thoughtfully.
“You three ain’t ridin’ for yore health.”
“We-e-ell, we ain’t—exactly, Rance. Last night about midnight the Overland was held up at Curlew Spur. Flagged ’em down with a red lantern, broke the express car and engine loose, ran up to the end of the big cut near the bridge, and blowed the express car safe. One-man job. Knowed how to do it, I reckon. We was down there at daylight, lookin’ the place over and kinda thought we’d drop in for breakfast with yuh.”
“Blew the Overland safe, eh?” snorted Chuckwalla. “Well, sir, I’ve often wondered why somebody——”
Chuckwalla shrugged his shoulders and turned back to the dish-pan.
“One man,” said Slim thoughtfully. “It takes nerve to do a job of that kind, Rance.”
“How much did they git, Slim?”
“We don’t know yet. The messenger says there was a lot of stuff in the safe, but he don’t know what it was worth.”
“Prob’ly got well paid for a few minutes’ work,” said Chuck Ring. “That’s the way to pull a job—alone.”