know," he answered, shaking his head. "Unless you've got
friends about. Anyway, you've got some explanations to make. I don't
like the look of it. You are trespassing. This is my father's land,
and--"

But at that moment, Biedenbach, every polite and gentle, said from
behind him in a low voice, "Hands up, my young sir."

Young Wickson put his hands up first, then turned to confront
Biedenbach, who held a thirty-thirty automatic rifle on him. Wickson was
imperturbable.

"Oh, ho," he said, "a nest of revolutionists--and quite a hornet's nest
it would seem. Well, you won't abide here long, I can tell you."

"Maybe you'll abide here long enough to reconsider that statement,"
Biedenbach said quietly. "And in the meanwhile I must ask you to come
inside with me."

"Inside?" The young man was genuinely astonished. "Have you a catacomb
here? I have heard of such things."

"Come and see," Biedenbach answered with his adorable accent.

"But it is unlawful," was the protest.

"Yes, by your law," the terrorist replied significantly. "But by our
law, believe me, it is quite lawful. You must accustom yourself to
the fact that you are in another world than the one of oppression and
brutality in which you have lived."

"There is room for argument there," Wickson muttered.

"Then stay with us and discuss it."

The young fellow laughed and followed his captor into the house. He
was led into the inner cave-room, and one of the young comrades left to
guard him, while we discussed the situation in the kitchen.

Biedenbach, with tears in his eyes, held that Wickson must die, and was
quite relieved when we outvoted him and his horrible proposition. On the
other hand, we could not dream of allowing the young oligarch to depart.

"I'll tell you what to do," Ernest said. "We'll keep him and give him an
education."

"I bespeak the privilege, then, of enlightening him in jurisprudence,"
Biedenbach cried.

And so a decision was laughingly reached. We would keep Philip Wickson
a prisoner and educate him in our ethics and sociology. But in the
meantime there was work to be done. All trace of the young oligarch must
be obliterated. There were the marks he had left when descending the
crumbling wall of the hole. This task fell to Biedenbach, and, slung on
a rope from above, he toiled cunningly for the rest of the day till no
sign remained. Back up the canyon from the lip of the hole all marks
were likewise removed. Then, at twilight,