er round
sharply.

It was Smiler--the never-fading grimace on his face, through which
penetrated an expression of fear.

"What is it? What is the matter?" asked Phil quickly.

Smiler moved his hands excitedly, trying desperately to make himself
understood thereby.

He kept tugging at Phil's coat, as a dog might do, and endeavoured to
get him to go along with him.

Phil tried him with several questions.

"Is it Jim Langford?" he asked at last.

Smiler nodded excitedly and pulled at Phil's coat more desperately
than ever.

"Jim Langford has sent Smiler for me, Miss Pederstone. I know you will
excuse me. Let me hurry you back to the hall."

"It can't be anything serious?" she queried anxiously, "no accident or
anything like that?"

"Oh, no!--but Jim's a queer fish and I guess it will be best to get to
him as quickly as possible. No saying what trouble he gets into in the
course of five minutes."

Phil saw her safely back to the hall, wished her "Good night," and
darted after Smiler who was waiting for him in the shadows.

CHAPTER XIII

The Big Steal

On Phil went through the back lanes of the town and up the hill toward
the railway tracks, almost trotting in his endeavour to keep pace with
the tireless Smiler.

They went past the three Warehouses,--Brenchfield's, The Pioneer
Traders' and that of The O.K. Supply Company,--till Smiler came to a
stand-still in front of an old, unused barn which stood in the yard in
front of the central Warehouse belonging to Graham Brenchfield. Phil
pushed his way inside and looked about him inquiringly.

Smiler pointed to a coal-oil lamp which hung--a dark shadow--from a
nail on the wall.

Phil closed the barn door tightly, struck a match and set the lantern
alight.

The barn floor was littered with damp, stale-smelling straw. Smiler
kicked some of it away and knelt down. He commenced to work his
fingers into the flooring boards. He gave an inarticulate chuckle when
he came to a certain part, gave a tug, and immediately half of the
floor swung up on well-oiled hinges, disclosing a cellar or vault
almost big enough to let down a dray-load of merchandise at a time.

Phil whistled.

Smiler seized the lamp and started down by a wooden ladder, but Phil
grabbed him by the coat collar, pulled him sheer out, planting him
down on the floor by his side.

"After me, my dear Alphonso?" he commanded, going down the ladder with
the lamp in one hand and his revolver in