This was all accomplished in less than twenty minutes, and we had plenty of time to catch our passenger train, which we did, leaving our plunder behind but sure to follow.

“He may not miss that junk till he goes to close up, kid, or he may have missed it already. Anyway we’ll sure be stuck up and frisked at Evanston. All we have to do is tell the truth, say we rode this rattler out of Cheyenne and never left the yards at Rock Springs. And they won’t hold us. They can’t figure that we could touch that joint and go out on the same train. We’ll stop at Evanston anyway and wait for our coal car. Then, instead of going to Salt Lake, we’ll ride the freight over the cutoff to Pocatello and I’ll get the coin on that junk in an hour from Mary.”

“Who’s Mary?” I asked.

“Wait till you see her, tomorrow. She’ll buy anything from a barrel of whisky to a baby carriage.”

It was a warm night, and riding the front end of the baggage was pleasant enough. “If the bulls grab us off, kid, you say nothing; I’ll talk and tell them who we are and where we’re going. You listen, that’s all.

“Say,” he said suddenly, “take off that coat and let me look at it.” He went over it closely by the light from the engine. It was tailor-made, and he found the owner’s name on a piece of white cloth sewed in the inside pocket. He ripped it out, and I put the coat on.

“You never can be too careful, kid. We ought to have looked at that before. If Jeff Carr had picked us up at Cheyenne you might have been charged with that lousy burglary by now.”

How could a boy help admiring such wisdom? I was flattered to be taken up by one so experienced, so confident and active about his work, and withal, so carefree, happy, and smiling.

We were not molested at Evanston, where we got off and waited for our freight train. It came along next day, and that night we dropped off it at Pocatello, Idaho.