The hunt started from there. Blanket stiffs looking for work were brought in, questioned, locked up for a day or two, and let go. The trains were searched up and down the line. Bums were brought in, got their ten days, but the burglars escaped and in a week the hue and cry was over. It was almost three weeks before the burglars showed up at Ogden. They were nervous and irritable, complaining that the jail had got uncomfortably filled up the last few days they were there. They got lousy from the blanket stiffs. The constable was sore about the burglary and wouldn’t square them for a ride into Salt Lake as he had done for me, and they had to pay their fare out of the town. Their money was almost gone, and there, in that little burg, was four thousand dollars that couldn’t be touched for at least a month, and somebody was liable to “steal” it on them. I got nervous, too. We decided to go up to Pocatello and kill the month around Salt Chunk Mary’s, where we would be safe and welcome, and where they could borrow enough money to live on until the time came to go after the four thousand. After a night’s ride we were welcomed by Mary, who spread the customary feed of beans and salt pork before us. She inquired anxiously about “Foot-and-a-half George.” She seemed to know every bum on the road of any consequence. Johnnie put in his time down in the jungle drinking with the bums. Sanc and I either watched the fine six-foot Indians that stalked about the town looking scornfully at their white inferiors, or the tinhorn gamblers who skinned the railroad men on pay days and each other afterward. Pay day was coming on and the town took on a busy aspect. Small-money gamblers appeared with their women companions. “Brass peddlers,” bums who sold imitation gold jewelry, principally rings, appeared on the streets with their ninety-cents-a-dozen gold “hoops” made in Wichita, Kansas, and “dropped” them to the Indian squaws and railroad laborers for any price from one dollar up. Other bums had bundles of pants and shoes planted in the jungle, the proceeds of a boxcar burglary on the Oregon Short Line. These articles were peddled openly about the railroad shops and to trainmen in the yards. A band of yeggs on their way to Great Falls and then to the “Canadian side” stopped off to thresh out their “soup” in the jungle.