Half panicky, I dashed across the street and into the cellar, where I hid amongst the junk at the end farthest from the door. In a half hour the town was on fire with excitement. The store was opened and I heard loud voices and the tramp of many feet above me. There was a clattering of horses’ hoofs in the street, and I knew the hue and cry was on. I burrowed deeper into boxes and bales, prepared for a long wait. When daylight came I saw a pair of stairs leading up to a trapdoor in the store floor. There was much coming and going all day, and the steady hum of voices. I strained my ears, but couldn’t make head or tail of the talk. I put in a long, hard day, and when night came and the store was closed I was famished for food and water. All day I had been debating in my mind whether I should sneak out at dark and try to hike away, or hold down the cellar for another twenty-four hours. I had just decided to go out and chance it when I heard the cellar doors banged down from the outside, then the click of a padlock. I was locked in. About midnight I went up the steps and found the trapdoor unfastened. The store was dark, but I soon found the cheese and crackers and carefully “weeded” out a good portion of each. There was a bucket of water in the back of the store, and I filled an empty bottle from it, after drinking all I could. Letting myself out of a window at the back, I closed it carefully after me, and hiked out of the town. Before daylight I carefully planted my “head of cabbage” in a field and crawled into a clump of bushes a hundred yards away to sleep and rest up for the next night. Between hunting in fields, gardens, and orchards at night for food, and walking as fast as I could, it took me four nights to get to the main line of the railroad sixty miles away. Counting the money, I found there was three thousand dollars of “green and greasy,” worn paper money, in small bills. During my long hike I had plenty of time to decide what to do. I made up my mind not to go near Salt Lake, where I was known. This money had been the death of poor old George, and I felt that he would turn over in his grave if I lost it and my liberty, too. I took out a hundred dollars and buried the rest with the utmost care. At Provo, Utah, I got some fresh clothes and settled down to wait till the business cooled off. From the papers I gathered that George was killed by the livery-stable owner, who had got up early to go duck shooting. Going to his stable to get a horse, he found the back door open and waited to see what was going on. He thought he had a horse thief, and only fired when George reached for his gun. Two thousand dollars in gold was found in George’s coat pocket, and returned to the county. The hunt was still on for the burglar with the big end of the money. Nobody claimed the dead man’s body and he was buried unnamed and unknown.