“I’ll get the ornery sneak! Come right into my wagon, by gollus! Snuck the wallet from under my coat.” He saw Budd and reiterated his charge. “You got to do somethin’ about this, Mr. Budd! Took four hundred an’ ten dollars right from anunder my nose, by gollus! Jest stuck his hand through the canvas and helped himself.” A murmur ran through the group. Four hundred dollars was a large sum of money, and the manner of taking had been audacious. The thief had obviously threaded his way around sleeping bodies until he found the wagon. Equally obvious was it that he must have spent some few days in observing the robbed man’s habits. “That’s a purty tidy sum of money,” ventured one. Budd’s vast presence seemed to absorb responsibility like a blotter. To a man they turned their attention his way. He walked to the wagon. “Stuck his arm through here?” he asked. On affirmation he plunged his own burly hand through the slit. “Put yore coat right where it was when the money was took.” The man climbed inside and did as requested. Budd pawed around the wagon bed. “You shore that’s where you had it?” “By gollus, don’t I know? Sure.” Budd shoved the weight of his body against the canvas and by dint of an extra lunge his fingers touched the coat. He said to himself, “That feller’s arm was right long to do things so quick and quiet.” He turned. “What kind o’ wallet? How’d you have the money?” “One o’ these twice-fold-over dinguses. It was black leather. My wife give it to me as a present nine years ago. Nine, wasn’t it, Carrie? Yep, shore. Four hundred an’ ten dollars in greenbacks. Sixteen twenties and the rest tens.” He sat down weakly and ran a hand over his head. “By gollus, I--I don’t know what to do about it! Powerful lot o’ money to lose.” The crowd moved again. Sam’s tall, impassive presence stood forth. “This ain’t the first time,” he added significantly. “Stealin’ been goin’ on for three days. Jest little things.” Other lanterns arrived and the circle became fairly well illuminated. Budd swept the faces, and for the first time made out Bill and his flaming red thatch standing silent and speculative with his slate-gray eyes fixed on Sam. “Got to stop,” continued Sam. “What I say is: Search every man here an’ search his duffle.” There was a dubious approval. Men bent their mind to the feasibility of it. A voice murmured, “Sounds kinda severe, but I’d be willin’.” “Only way,” asserted Sam. “Got to stop it now. Any man to object sh’d be considered guilty.” A dry answer met this. Bill rubbed his red crest and stuck out his chin. “Go lay down, Paralyzed. Yore voice makes me tired. Moreover, yore idea is plumb foolish. Search the whole camp? Shucks, the man that got this money ain’t an entire fool. He’s cached it away by now.” “Mean to say,” countered Sam in the same, unexpressive drawl, “you’re unwillin’?”