Whether it was my pulling on the pouch I don’t know, but the sleeping man stirred uneasily and his regular breathing stopped. I shrank down lower beside the bed, one hand under his head and the other at the pillow, breathless from the intense concentration and suspense. He stirred again and then floundered heavily over on his side, his back to me and his head off the leather. I could not hear him breathe. I was sure he was awake, but not alarmed. After a heart-breaking fifteen minutes his sleep became natural again, and I slowly, softly pulled the pouch free from under his pillow. It was mine now, and it was my business to hold on to it. I took as long going downstairs as I did going up, and at last made my way out of the house, closing the kitchen door softly behind me. Putting my shoes on, I hastened away to plant the money. In the neighborhood was a big vacant lot, its boundaries marked by a row of broken and leaning fence posts from which the boards had been taken for firewood or other uses. Pulling one of the loose posts from its place, I threw the pouch in the hole and jammed the post down on top of it. The gun and instruments I threw into a small stream near by. I wanted to be entirely clean of anything incriminating in case I was suspected, arrested, and searched. In the security of my room I went over the night’s work. After an hour’s thought I could think of but one more thing I ought to do. My socks might have picked up dirt or dust around the house. A particle of dust, a piece of thread or lint or raveling of cloth might convict me if suspicion fell on me. Taking the socks off my feet, I went out and threw them in a lot. Fully satisfied that I had done everything possible to insure safety, I returned to the hotel. Daylight was coming on. Going upstairs I met the porter coming down to open up. He gave me a sleepy “good-morning,” and I went on to my room and to bed, but not to sleep. I was in the dining room as usual about seven o’clock. The room was noisy, every one was talking at once. A tall man got up from the table, saying in a loud Western drawl: “Waal, I’m fer lynchin’ ’em if we git ’em.” A quiet-spoken Englishman next me at the long table told me all about the burglary. Out in the street I saw with some concern that the town was on fire with excitement.