h is needed."

"But it's dangerous to fool with people like Fitsey!" choked Hen.

"Keep quiet! If you can't help, don't hinder. Don't be an utter pinhead,
Hen."

Now that they were in sight of the cabin, Dave and his companions, and
the two men with them, put on extra speed. Dick stole off to meet the
approaching ones.

"Fits hasn't gotten away, has he?" hailed Dave, in a hoarse undertone.

"We haven't seen him go," Dick replied. "For all we know he's still in
the shack. Officers?"

Dick indicated the two men.

"One of them is a constable," nodded Dave; "the other is a neighbor
sworn in as a deputy."

"If your thief is around here, sonny," grinned the constable, "we'll
soon have him where he won't trouble you. Easy, now, with the talk. We
don't want to give the fellow any warning."

The constable and his deputy slipped down in front of the log cabin,
followed by the boys.

"Look out! That rascal will shoot!" screamed Hen, in an agony of fear
about something.

At that instant the door of the shack flew open. The two men were just
in time to see Mr. Fits step out, on snowshoes. In another instant Dick
& Co., behind the officers, also got a glimpse of the fellow.

"Hold on, there, neighbor," advised the constable coolly. "Just wait
until we have a word with you."

Officer and deputy ran over the snowcrust. Mr. Fits, looking, or
pretending to be, a bit dazed, stood as if he expected to wait for the
men to come up with him. But suddenly a grin appeared on the face of the
rascal.

"Fine morning and fine crust for a race," he announced, and moved away a
few yards, with an easy gliding movement, on the snowshoes.

"Halt, there!" called the constable firmly, reaching back to his hip
pocket.

The deputy reached for his revolver, but, in his excitement, instead of
aiming or firing, he hurled the weapon at the head of Mr. Fits. The
pistol went by the head of the rascal, then struck the crust and skimmed
on ahead of him.

"Much obliged!" called back Fits, now moving fast.

"Don't try to pick up that weapon!" shouted the constable, running as
swiftly as he could over the crust. "If you do, I'll shoot."

"I reckon you'll shoot anyway," jeered Fits, making a swoop and picking
up the revolver that had been thrown at him.

Constable Dock fired promptly. But Fits wheeled, a weapon now in his own
hand.

Three jets of fire leaped swiftly from the muzzle of the pistol. Three
sharp explosions followed, and bullets