made out the gray hair, the
smiling, evil eyes. He knew and recognized the features.

The officer struggled with himself for a moment. Then his authority
returned.

"You're under arrest for--running this cargo of liquor," he said
sharply.

Holy Dick's smile broadened.

"But----"

"If you're going to make a statement I'm here to listen, but--it'll be
used against you."

Sergeant McBain rapped out his formula without regard for the letter
of it. Then, while one of the troopers placed handcuffs upon the
prisoner's wrists, he turned to those at the canoe.

"How many kegs?" he demanded.

For a moment there was no reply. Holy Dick sniggered. McBain glared
furiously, and his impatience rose.

"How many?" he cried again, more sharply.

One of the troopers approached him and spoke in a low voice.

"None, sergeant," he said, vainly striving to avoid the sharp ears of
their prisoner. "The boat's loaded heavy with loose rocks. It's----"

A cunning laugh interrupted him. Holy Dick was holding out his
manacled arms.

"Guess you'd best grab these off, Sergeant; maybe you'll need 'em for
someone else."

But the policeman's reply became lost. A rattle of firearms far off on
the other side of the river left it unspoken. Something was happening
away over there, something they had not calculated upon. The rest of
the patrol, with Fyles, was divided between the other bank and the
more distant trail. He turned to his men.

"Loose him and get into the saddle sharp!" he cried. "They've fooled
us. By God, they've fooled us--again!"

* * * * *

The uncertain moonlight revealed to Stanley Fyles a movement on the
distant rise of ground where the trail first mounted, and, beyond,
finally disappeared. His night glasses made out a rapidly oncoming
vehicle, accompanied by a small band of horsemen.

The sight rejoiced him. Things were working out well. The man Pete had
not lied. McBain held the river. No boat could pass him. He would take
these men as part of the gang, working in conjunction with the boat.
All was well, and his spirits rose. A sharp order was passed back to
his men, ambushed in the bluff where he had taken up his position. The
thing would be simple as daylight. There would be no bloodshed. A few
shots fired to hold the gang up. Then the arrest.

He waited. Then he backed into the ambush out of sight. The wagon came
on. Through his leafy screen he watched for the details of the