“Can’tcha git out?” asked the boy who had the ball.
Hashknife backed out. He had forgotten the boys. In his hand was a folded piece of paper, which he unfolded and read carefully. It was Jim Wheeler’s copy of the note on which he had borrowed the money from Ed Merrick.
“Now, how in hell did that get under there?” wondered Hashknife. He studied the situation. Close to this spot was the hitch-rack.
“He got on his horse at that rack,” said Hashknife to himself. “He thought he put the note in his pocket, but didn’t; and the wind blew it under the sidewalk. No wonder he didn’t have the note when they found him.”
He folded the note and put it carefully in his pocket. The two youngsters were watching him closely, possibly wondering what he had found. Hashknife stared at them for a moment, and a grin came to his lips as he dug down in his pocket and drew out two quarters.
“You boys buy yoreselves some candy,” he said giving them the money.
“Thank yuh, mister!” exploded one of them, and they raced across the street to a store, all out of breath. Hashknife went to his horse, mounted and rode out of town.
The two boys lined up at the fly-specked candy counter and took plenty of time in picking out what they wanted. Angus McLaren and Len Kelsey came into the store, talking earnestly about the latest developments, and stopped near the two boys.
The old man behind the counter peered over his glasses at the boys.
“Yuh want two-bits’ worth apiece?” he asked, rather awed at their enormous purchases. “By golly, yuh must have struck a soap mine!”