He glanced with some excitement at the ruins of the old express shed,
then he went over there. The embers had died down entirely, and the mass
of ashes and debris was sparkless and cold.

Bart went to a near railroad scrap heap and selected a long iron rod
crowbar crooked at the end. He returned to the ruins and began poking
the debris aside. He was thus engaged when some trackmen, lounging the
day away over on a freight platform, sauntered up to the spot.

"Why don't you work holidays, Stirling?" asked one of them satirically.

"Somebody has got to work to get this mess in shipshape order," retorted
Bart. "The writing said what was true!" he spoke to himself, as his
pokings cleared a broad iron surface. "The safe door is shut."

The safe lay flat on its back where it had fallen when the floor had
burned away. It was an old-fashioned affair with a simple combination
attachment, and so far as Bart could make out had suffered no damage
beyond having its coat of lacquer and gilt lettering burned off.

He leaned over and felt of its surface, which retained scarcely any heat
now.

"We heard the old iron box was caught open by the fire and everything in
it burned up," spoke one of the trackmen.

"I supposed so myself," said Bart, "but it seems otherwise. I wonder how
heavy it is?"