Clark finished. The commissioners were silent. “I take it that the clippin’ settles the box mystery case--an’ settles me!” said the sheriff softly. “It means--that clippin’--that it was two o’ the Alamosa bandits who came back an’ got that buried loot--the Alamosa loot--the other night. It means we’ll never get ’em. It means that they was not only here the other night, but that they was likewise here after the robbery when they buried the loot--here twice an’ we didn’t get ’em either time. That loot was here all those eight years an’ we didn’t get it----” The commissioners coughed, fidgeted. “Ef it helps the party any I’ll up an’ resign,” offered the sheriff meekly. “I have made up my mind. Yuh kin put up a new man fer sheriff come election, an’ mebbe win with him--seein’ yuh probably kain’t win with me when this news gits out.” Commissioner Clark nodded. “Yuh’re takin’ the matter sensible, sheriff,” he agreed. “I think yuhr suggestion is the only suggestion possible.” The sheriff reached a trembling hand for a pad of paper. He would write out his resignation as a candidate for reelection now. It could be announced at once and---- There was an interruption, however. Shorty and Manuel Perez and Fred Speers appeared in the open doorway suddenly. They entered quickly. The commissioners stared, but it was the sheriff who spoke up, thickly, in a strange tone. “Shorty, I’m busy jus’ now--ef it ain’t important I wish yuh’d wait outside. Hullo, Perez, yuh git fired offen yuhr new job already? Good mawnin’, Speers. Now ef yuh all will----” “This matter won’t wait,” said Shorty, taking in the situation at a glance. “Whatever yuh was aimin’ to write down on that pad had better wait, boss. Looky here----” Shorty yanked a bundle from his shirt front. A bundle wrapped in newspapers. He quickly broke the string that held it. He spread the bundle out on the sheriff’s desk. Money! Greenbacks! Dozens of them. Hundreds of them. A young fortune in currency! “Thar, boss,” said Shorty softly, “thar’s what was in that box that was dug up out o’ the ground under the end o’ the Third Street bridge the other night. It’s money. About six thousand dollars in cold cash--as I counted it hastily. The box itself has been discarded somewhars, but it doesn’t matter much. Perez here kin tell us all about the box. In fact, he’s already told me--confessed--that that dough is his loot from many a rustlin’ deal afore he went to the pen. Yuh remember he had no money when we arrested him? He pretended to be broke. Waal, he was canny enough to have buried his roll under the bridge jus’ afore we pinched him. An’ while he was in stir he planned how to git it.” Shorty grinned at the startled commissioners.