“Number Two-Eight-Two!” he quavered.

“Sure thing!” The dumpy man patted the tall man’s arm.  “Add one, and you have Number Two-Eight-Three—­a pal who drew the next number because we’re always in company.”

“And we’re here because we’re here,” stated the other.

The short man fixed his gaze on the ex-cashier.  “You don’t realize it yet, but this is more of a reunion than it looks to be on the surface.  You two gents have seen how we’re fixed in the gun line, and we hope the understanding is going to make the party sociable.”

“You may be thinking that this is only another case of it being proved how small the world is, after all,” remarked the tall man.  “Not so!  Not so!  We have followed you two because we have important business with you.  We have had a lot of trouble and effort in getting here.  Bear that in mind, please!”

The new arrivals were quite matter-of-fact and Wagg was helped to recover some of his composure.  “The two of you are three-year men—­robbery in the nighttime,” he declared, out of his official knowledge.  “What in blue blazes are you doing outside the pen?”

“Attending to the same business as you are—­after a slice of the bank coin,” replied the short man, carelessly.

Wagg got to his feet and banged his fists together.  “Do you dare to walk right up to a guard of the state prison and—­and—­” He balked in his demand for information; Mr. Wagg was plainly afflicted with a few uncomfortable considerations of his own situation.

“We do!” the convicts declared in concert.  Then the dumpy man went on:  “And whatever else it is you’re wondering whether we dare to do, we’ll inform that we dare.  Once on a time we had occasion to express our opinion of a bank.  I wrote out that opinion and left it where it would be seen.  Not exactly Sunday-school language, but it hit the case.”  He turned away from Vaniman’s frenzy of gasping interrogation.  He confined his attention to Wagg.  “A prison guard, say you?  You’re a hell of a guard!”

“Opinion indorsed!” said the other convict.

For a few moments there was complete silence on the summit of Devilbrow.  Somewhere, on an upland farm in the distance, a cow mooed.  Then a rooster challenged all comers.

“That’s the word, old top!” agreed the tall man.  “It expresses my feelings,” He clapped his hands against his legs and cried in his tenor, imitating the singsong of the rooster, “We’re here because we’re he-e-ere!”

Then he and his fellow sat down on a ledge outcropping that overtopped and commanded the position of the other men.  The convicts surveyed Vaniman and Wagg with a complacent air of triumph.  “Are you willing to take things as they stand, or do you feel that you can’t go ahead till your curiosity has been scratched?” inquired the short man.

“Curiosity!” stormed the ex-cashier.  “Do you dare to call the feeling I have in me curiosity?” He thumped his fist against his breast.