“I always crush into these powder shacks for my ‘puff’ for two reasons; first, it’s always in good condition; second, if you buy it you’ve got to leave your mug with the storekeeper. He’s always suspicious of anybody buying explosives and is apt to remember you and cause trouble later in case of a pinch. “I got this bum foot,” he said, sticking it out, pointing to the shoe with its bent-up toe, “through buying a roll of rotten fuse at an out-of-the-way general store in Montana. I was goin’ against ‘P.O.’s’ then. I always favored post offices because in the small country ones the postmaster has to furnish the box himself and gets the cheapest one he can find. He don’t care because the government stands the loss if it’s a plain burglary from the outside. “Besides that, you’re a cinch to get some coin and a bundle of stickers out of every ‘P.O.’ You can peddle the stamps anywhere at sixty or eighty per cent and they can’t be identified. Then again, if you do fall, the government don’t hang a lot of prior convictions on you and bury you. The limit for a ‘P.O.’ is five years and you never get that if you use a little judgment. Yes, I’m strong for the government,” mused the veteran, reflectively. “This caper I’m tellin’ you about was a third-class ‘P.O.’ outside of Butte, Montana. It was soft, and good for a few hundred dollars so I decided to go against it alone. No use takin’ a bunch of thirsty bums along and stealin’ money for them to slop up in some saloon the next day. Anyway, I had a hole in the old box an’ a shot in it in half an hour. I strung the fuse to a window and touched it off from the outside. It spluttered along the floor and up to the door of the box, but nothing happened. After a few minutes I went back inside to put on a fresh piece of fuse. Just as I got in front of the box there was a roar, the door came off, and knocked me flat. The edge of it caught my foot on the floor and smashed all the toes.” “Did you get the coin?” “You’re damn right, I did. “After my wind came back I got the coin and stickers, limped outside where I had an old ‘swift’ tied to a hitching rack. I had no saddle and it was a tough ride into Silver Bow Junction. But I got there before daylight and grabbed a rattler into Pocatello where ‘Salt Chunk Mary’ put me away, got a doctor, and got rid of my ‘stickers.’ That’s why I’m so particular about my fuse,” he concluded.