Dynamite and drills were to be had for the taking at any mine. I invited my friend, the waiter, to come in on the caper, but he declined for the very good reason that he had “done enough time.” Compared with the work I had put in getting the mine payroll this was simple and I went against it alone, confident of success and glad I wouldn’t have to split the money with anybody. The box was of a make that has long been extinct. It was an experiment on the part of the manufacturers, and a costly one, for the box men soon found a fatal weakness in its makeup and hungrily sought them out till the last one went into the junk pile.

The one I had designs on looked more like an old-fashioned clothes closet than a receptacle for money. Its four wheels rested on a heavy wooden platform that served to reinforce the thin floor of the storeroom. The work of putting a hole in it, placing the shot, and laying a five-minute fuse took an hour. The man that does this kind of work alone must now take a look at the street to be sure there are no late stragglers around. When he satisfies himself on this point he returns and lights his fuse. While it is burning he goes back to the street some distance away and plants himself in a hall or doorway till he hears the explosion. Then when he is satisfied there is no alarm, he goes after his money.