“And how about my feelings, with escaped convicts racing and chasing all over this country?” shouted the guard.  “What has happened to that prison since I’ve been off my job?”

“One at a time!” The dumpy man put up his hand to shut off the stream of questions that were pouring from Wagg.  “The young fellow has his innings first.  He has more good reasons for rearing and tearing.  It’s easy enough to get out of a state prison when you have a trick that can be worked once.”  He winked at Wagg.  Then he directed his remarks strictly at Vaniman.

“I’m going to talk free and open.  We’re all in the same boat.  We’re a couple of pots, and both of you are kettles, all black.  Now, listen!  I’m Bill.”  He stuck his finger against his breast and then tagged with it his pal at his side.  “He’s Tom.  Bill and Tom have been humble and hard-working yeggmen, never tackling anything bigger than country stores and farmers’ flivvers.  Once on a time they were in a barn, tucked away waiting for night, and they heard a man running a double shift of talk—­beating down the farmer on the price of cattle and blowing off about gold coin hoarded by the bushel in a rube bank.”

Stickney’s unruly mouth!  Vaniman understood.  “So, says Bill to Tom:  ‘Why not go up like everything else is going up these days?’ Says Tom to Bill:  ‘I’m on.’  We took our time about it, getting the lay of the land.  We went down to the big burg to buy drills and soup and pick up points on how to crack a real nut.  Equipment up to that time had been a glass cutter and a jimmy for back windows and padlocks.”

He was humorously drawling his confession.  He stopped talking and lighted a cigarette.  Impatience that was agony urged Vaniman, but he controlled himself.  Wagg did not venture to say anything.  His thoughts were keeping him busy; he was mentally galloping, trying to catch up with the new situation.

“And let me tell you that when Bill and Tom got back up here, they had colder feet than the weather accounted for.  General headquarters, that camp!” He jerked thumb gesture toward the log cabin.  “It had been our hang-out in times past when we operated in this section.  Handy place!  Finally got up courage enough to go to the job.  Fine night for it!  Deserted village.  Peeked into Town Hall and saw the general round-up.  Light in the bank.  Bill was boosted up by Tom and got a peek over the curtain.  One fellow inside adding figures—­much taken up.  Bank-vault door wide open.  Front door unlocked.  Crawled in.  Kept crawling.  Crawled into bank room.  Grille door wide open.  Bill up and hit fellow with rubber nob-knocker—­it snuffs, but is not dangerous.  Tom is handy by with the chloroform—­always carried it for our second-story work.”

The young man began to stride to and fro, striving by using his legs to keep from using his tongue.