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Just then a loud voice came from above.

“Hey, down there!” A second’s pause. Then: “We’ve got you dead to rights, so no monkey business. Come up out o’ that, or we’ll pump enough lead down there to–“

“Don’t shoot,–don’t shoot!” yelled Mr. Bonaparte shrilly. “Tell your men not to fire, Mr. Crow!”

“Tell–tell who?” cried Anderson blankly. Suddenly he sprang to his companion’s side; seizing him by the arm, he whispered hoarsely: “By gosh, I thought there was somethin’ queer about that gang. Have you got any of the gold here? I recollect that feller’s voice, plain as day. They’re after the gold. They’ve heard about–“

“Are you coming up?” roared the voice from the outer world.

“Who are you?” called back Anderson stoutly.

“Oh, I guess you’ll recognize United States marshals when you see ’em. Come on, now.”

Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte faced Marshal Crow, the truth dawning upon him like a flash.

“You damned old rube!” he snarled, and forthwith planted his fist under Anderson’s chin-whiskers, with such surprising force that the old man once more landed heavily on the prostrate form of the unfortunate Bacon.

“O-oh, gosh!” groaned Anderson, and as his eyes rolled upward he saw a million stars chasing each other around the ceiling.

“I’ll get that much satisfaction out of it anyhow,” he heard some one say, from a very great distance.

Sometime afterward he was dimly aware of a jumble of excited voices about him. Some one was shouting in his ear. He opened his eyes and everything looked green before them. In time he recognized pine trees, very lofty pine trees that slowly but surely shrank in size as he gazed wonderingly at them.

There were a lot of strange men surrounding him. Out of the mass, he finally selected a face that grew upon him. It was the face of Alf Reesling.

“By jinks, Anderson, you done it this time,” Alf cried excitedly. “I told ’em you was on your way up here to arrest these fellers, an’ by jinks, I knowed you’d get ’em.”

“Le–lemme set down, please,” mumbled Anderson, and the two men who supported him lowered him gently to the ground, with his back against a tree trunk. “Come here, Alf,” he called out feebly.

Alf shuffled forward.

“Who are these men?” whispered Anderson.

“Detectives–reg’lar detectives,” replied Alf. “United States detectives–what do you call ’em?”

“Scotland Yard men,” replied Anderson, who had done a good deal of reading in his time.

“I started out after you on my wheel, Andy, thinkin’ maybe you’d have trouble. Down the road I met up with these fellers in a big automobile. They stopped me an’ said I couldn’t go up the hill. Just then up comes another car full of men. They all seemed to be acquainted. I told ’em I was a deputy marshal an’ was goin’ up the hill to help you arrest a feller named Bonyparte. Well, by jinks, you oughter heard ’em! They cussed, and said the derned ole fool would spile everything. Then, ‘fore you could say Joe, they piled into one o’ the cars an’ sailed up the hill. I didn’t get up here till after they’d hauled you an’ your prisoners out o’ that hole, but I give ’em the laugh just the same. You captured the two ringleaders. By gosh, I’m glad you’re alive, Andy. I bet the Kaiser’ll hate you fer this.”

“The–the what?”

“Ole Kaiser Bill. Say, you was down there quite a little spell, an’ they won’t let me go down. What does a wireless plant look like, Anderson?”

* * * * *

That evening Marshal Crow sat on the porch in front of Lamson’s store, smoking a fine cigar, presented to him by Harry Squires, reporter for the Banner. He had a large audience. Indeed, he was obliged to raise his voice considerably in order to reach the outer rim.