“I always crush into these powder shacks for my ‘puff’ for two reasons; first, it’s always in good condition; second, if you buy it you’ve got to leave your mug with the storekeeper. He’s always suspicious of anybody buying explosives and is apt to remember you and cause trouble later in case of a pinch.

“I got this bum foot,” he said, sticking it out, pointing to the shoe with its bent-up toe, “through buying a roll of rotten fuse at an out-of-the-way general store in Montana. I was goin’ against P.O. ’s then. I always favored post offices because in the small country ones the postmaster has to furnish the box himself and gets the cheapest one he can find. He don’t care because the government stands the loss if it’s a plain burglary from the outside.

“Besides that, you’re a cinch to get some coin and a bundle of stickers out of every P.O. You can peddle the stamps anywhere at sixty or eighty percent and they can’t be identified. Then again, if you do fall, the government don’t hang a lot of prior convictions on you and bury you. The limit for a P.O. is five years and you never get that if you use a little judgment. Yes, I’m strong for the government,” mused the veteran, reflectively.