As soon as Jed was got out of the pit, help was summoned, for the box was far too heavy for two men to raise. The news that it had been found spread like wildfire, and a regular procession started for the mouth of the old mine to see it recovered. Among them was the paymaster, and, as soon as the box was hauled up, he produced a key from his pocket, turned it in the lock, and threw back the lid. "Good!" he said. "They didn't stop to open it. Knew they ran the risk of being held up and searched, and didn't want any of the stuff to be found on them. They certainly had every reason to believe that it was safely planted here." "They didn't have time t' open it," said Jed. "That lock was specially made--see how it throws three bolts instead o' one. Nobody could 'a' picked it. Th' only way they could 'a' got that chest open was t' blow it, like a safe, an' I don't suppose they was fixed fer that kind o' work, comin', as they did, straight from th' pen." "Or perhaps they was scared away by Nolan's death," added Jack. "I certainly wouldn't 'a' cared t' stay here arter that!" "Well, whatever the cause, the money's here," said the paymaster, and closed the lid again and locked it. * * * * * The evening shadows were lengthening along the path as Jack climbed up to the little house back of the railroad yards, and softly opened the door and entered. Mary was in the kitchen, and, at the sound of his step, turned toward him, her face very pale, her eyes asking the question her lips did not dare to utter. Jack saw the question and understood. "He's dead," he said, briefly. "Oh, Jack, not that!" cried Mary, her face gray with horror. "Not that! I didn't mean it! God knows I didn't mean it!" "Don't worry. 'Twasn't me killed him. T knowed I couldn't do it. But I'd 'a' took him back to th' pen, myself, an' waited t' see him locked up." Mary drew a deep breath of relief, and the colour returned to her face again. "Thank God!" she said. "I was prayin' all night, Jack, that you wouldn't find him; I was so worrited t' think that I'd let you go like that! And yet he wasn't no better than a snake!" "Well, he's gittin' his deserts now," and Jack told her the story of the finding of the body. Mary listened to the end without offering to interrupt. "'Twas God's judgment, Jack," she said, solemnly, when he had finished. "But," she added, with a quick return of housewifely instinct, "you must be half-starved." "I _am_ purty hungry, an' that's a fact," he admitted. "What's that you've got on th' stove? It smells mighty good," and he sniffed appreciatively. "It's some chicken broth fer Allan. Would y' like some?" "A good thick beefsteak 'd be more in my line. How is th' boy?" "Comin' on nicely," answered Mary, as she hurried to the pantry. She reappeared in a moment, bringing back with her just the sort of steak Jack was thinking of. He stared at it in astonishment.