y. If you do, wire me, and
I'll get busy. I've got to go over to the State Department now, so I'll
say good-bye--anything else you want let me know."

"Next for a sporting goods shop," said Macloud as they went down the
steps into Pennsylvania Avenue; "for a supply of small arms and
ammunition--and, incidentally, a couple of tents. We can get a few
cooking utensils in Annapolis, but we will take our meals at Carvel
Hall. I think neither of us is quite ready to turn cook."

"I am sure, I'm content!" laughed Croyden. "We can hire a horse and
buggy by the week, and keep them handy--better get a small tent for the
horse, while we're about it."

They went to a shop on F Street, where they purchased three tents of
suitable size, two Winchester rifles, and a pair of Colt's military
revolvers with six-and-a-half inch barrels, and the necessary
ammunition. These they directed should be sent to Annapolis
immediately. Cots and blankets could be procured there, with whatever
else was necessary.

They were bound up F Street, toward the Electric Station, when Macloud
broke out.

"If we had another man with us, your imprisonment idea would not be so
difficult--we could bag our game much more easily, and guard them more
securely when we had them. As it is, it's mighty puzzling to
arrange."

"True enough!" said Croyden, "but where is the man who is
trustworthy--not to mention willing to take the risk, of being killed
or tried for murder, for someone else's benefit? They're not many like
you, Colin."

A man, who was looking listlessly in a window just ahead, turned away.
He bore an air of dejection, and his clothes, while well cut, were
beginning to show hard usage and carelessness.

"Axtell!" Macloud observed--"and on his uppers!"

"There's our man!" exclaimed Croyden. "He is down hard, a little money
with a small divide, if successful, will get him. What do you say?"

"Nothing!" replied Macloud. "It's up to you."

Axtell saw them; he hesitated, whether to speak or to go on. Croyden
solved the question.

"Hello! Axtell, what are you doing here?" he said, extending his hand.

Axtell grasped it, as a drowning man a straw.

"You're kind to ask, Mr. Croyden! Mighty kind in one who lost so much
through us."

"You were not to blame--Royster's responsible, and he's gone----"

"To hell!" Axtell interrupted, bitterly. "May he burn forever!"

"Amen to that wish!" Croyden smiled. "Meanwhile, can I do anything for
you? You're