“This caper I’m tellin’ you about was a third-class P.O. outside of Butte, Montana. It was soft, and good for a few hundred dollars so I decided to go against it alone. No use takin’ a bunch of thirsty bums along and stealin’ money for them to slop up in some saloon the next day. Anyway, I had a hole in the old box an’ a shot in it in half an hour. I strung the fuse to a window and touched it off from the outside. It spluttered along the floor and up to the door of the box, but nothing happened. After a few minutes I went back inside to put on a fresh piece of fuse. Just as I got in front of the box there was a roar, the door came off, and knocked me flat. The edge of it caught my foot on the floor and smashed all the toes.”

“Did you get the coin?”

“You’re damn right, I did.

“After my wind came back I got the coin and stickers, limped outside where I had an old swift tied to a hitching rack. I had no saddle and it was a tough ride into Silver Bow Junction. But I got there before daylight and grabbed a rattler into Pocatello where Salt Chunk Mary put me away, got a doctor, and got rid of my stickers. That’s why I’m so particular about my fuse,” he concluded.