There was a convict named Dalton working near Archie and the Kid. Dalton had but one thought left in his mind, and this was that when he got out he would go to where he had concealed a kit of burglar tools. He had been the victim of some earlier practical jokers in the penitentiary, and had had a locksmith fashion for him tools such as no burglar ever needed or used in a business in which a jimmy, a piece of broom-stick and creepers are all the paraphernalia necessary. Dalton still had fourteen years to serve. "Well, Jack, how’s everything this morning?" the Kid would ask as soon as the guard went down to the other end of the shop. "Oh, all right," Dalton would reply. Then he would grow serious, grit his teeth, clench his fist for emphasis and say: "Just wait till I get home! By God, if any one springs that kit of mine, I’ll croak him!" "Where’s the plant?" the Kid would ask. "In the jungle?" "Oh, you’ll never find out!" Dalton would reply warily. "Some of the hoosiers or the bulls are likely to spring it," the Kid would suggest. The possibility tortured Dalton. "By God," he could only say, "if they do--I’ll croak ’em!" "I wouldn’t do that," said the Kid. "Get Dutch here to take you out with a tribe of peter men; he can teach you to pour the soup. Can’t you get a little soup and some strings and begin with him now, Archie?" "Sure," said Archie, grinning, proud to be thus recognized. "That’s the grift; we’ll nick the screw; and when you go home you’ll be ready to--" "No," said Dalton determinedly, "I’ve got them tools planted--but--" "Why don’t you take him out with a swell mob of guns?" suggested Archie. "Think he could stall for the dip?" asked the Kid. "What do you think, Jack?" "I’ll stick to prowlin’," said Dalton, shaking his head and muttering to himself. "He’s stir simple," remarked the Kid, not without pity. But the Kid was tired of his new occupation. "I don’t believe I’m a very good bolt-maker," he said to Archie. "You might cut off a finger, or get Sweeny--" "Nix," said the Kid. "Not for Willie. I’ll need my finger. I’d do a nice job of reefing a kick with a finger gone, wouldn’t I?" He looked at his fingers, rapidly stiffening under the rough, hard work. "Didn’t I tell you to stop that spieling?" demanded a guard who had slipped up behind him. The Kid gave the guard a look that expressed the contempt he felt for him better than any words. "I’ll report you for insolence," said the guard angrily. "For what?" said the Kid. "Insolence." "How could you?" asked the Kid calmly. "You couldn’t spell the word." The guard made a mark on his card. "You’ll be stood out for that," said the guard. The Kid’s face darkened, but he controlled himself. For he had another plan. A few days later he said to Archie: "Are you on to that inspector?" "What for?" asked Archie. "He’s boostin’ bolts."