"But who could give the show away?"

"I'm thinking that sprained ankle of Brenchfield's was a darned _lame_ excuse," Jim answered. And that was all they could get out of him on the subject.

It was sufficient, however, to set all of them a-wondering. But no shadow of suspicion had ever before crossed their minds, and they soon dismissed the suggestion as one more distorted ridiculous romance from the fertile brain of Jim Langford.

The whimpering St.i.tchy--like most of his kind; never a hero when alone--was secured in the same way as Red had been, then the men hunters continued to the top of the hill, where, as soon as dawn came up, a good view would be had of the single road as it wound, snake-like, for half a mile on the incline.

"It is five o'clock," remarked Jim. "With no mishaps, they should be here any time now."

The seven men distributed themselves in the ditches and bushes--three on one side and four on the other, at intervals of ten yards, covering a distance of seventy yards in all.

As they lay there in the ditches by the roadside, the early morning air bit sharp and chilly, having a touch of frost in it--the harbinger of colder weather to come--but still retaining a dampness that searched into the marrow.

A grey light was just beginning to spear the darkness on the top of Blue Nose Mountain away to the east. A heavy blanket of cold fog completely enveloped the low-lying lands. Suddenly, the dark leaden sky seemed to break up into ten thousand sections of gloomy puff-clouds, all sailing hap-hazard inside a dome of the lightest, brightest blue. The sun, cold to look at but shining with the light of a blazing ball, rode up over the hills, sending great shafts of searchlight down the sides of the hills and filling the ghostly valley below, with its tightly-packed firs and skeleton-like pine trees, with a warm, yellow mist, suggestive of luminous smoke rising from some fairy cauldron of molten gold; transforming the dead, chilly night into a crisp, living, moving, late-autumn morning.

As the mists completely melted away, Jim signalled to Phil and Phil repeated to McLean. The sign was pa.s.sed along the other side as well.

Away down the roadway, at the turn between the low-lying hills, a heavy team appeared, struggling in front of a great wagon, piled high with produce of some kind. Another came into view, and still another, until eight of them, following closely on one another, crept along in what seemed to be a caterpillar movement.

As they came unsuspectingly onward, the drivers urging their horses--cheerful in the knowledge that the worst of their journey was successfully over--the silent watchers crept closer to cover, fearful that the brightening day would betray their whereabouts. But nothing untoward happened, except that a closer view of the oncomers gave out the fact that every wagon was loaded high with alfalfa, while what were looked for were wagon-loads of flour and feed.

McLean wormed his way past Phil and along to Jim.

"Dommit,--we're fooled!" he whispered angrily.

"Deevil the fool! Get back, Mack,--get back!"

"But it's alfalfa they've got. You canna risk holding them up when maybe the bunch we're after are comin' along hauf a mile ahin'."

Jim bit his lip. This was something he had not reckoned on.

All at once his knowledge of Scottish History came to his aid.

"Something tells me they're the crowd we're after," he answered in a low voice. "And we've got them--every mother's son o' them. Lord sake, Mack! I'm surprised at ye. You a Scot and you canna remember the takin' o' Linlithgow Castle! What was under the hay-carts then, laddie?--what? but good, trusty highlanders. And what's under the alfalfa now but good feed and flour that'll show in your next Profit and Loss Account in red figures if you don't recover it. It's a fine trick, but it is too thin.

"Go back! Signal the others to hold them up at all costs."

And McLean went back, bewildered but as nearly convinced as a Scot can be who has not the logical proof right under his nose.

Slowly the teams came straggling up the incline, coming nearer and nearer the men in ambush, until the latter could see clearly that every driver was a half-breed and that every man of them had a rifle across his knees. When they were well within the line, the preconcerted signal--Howden's rifle--rang out.

Taking chances, the deputy chief sprang out into the centre of the road and shouted, covering the leader. Three men on one side and three on the other sprang up and covered six of the drivers.

Some of the half-breeds immediately threw up their hands, taken completely by surprise. But a shot, fired by one of the uncovered drivers, sang out and big McLean dropped with a bullet through his thigh.

Howden sprang on to the first wagon, knocked the driver over, kicked his rifle aside and climbed right on top of the load, bringing down the man who shot McLean as neatly as could be with his revolver.

That ended what little fight there was in the gang. The half-breeds had no chance, with their horses getting excited and their heavy loads beginning to back on them down-hill.

In a short time, they were all unarmed and secured. McLean and the wounded half-breed were made comfortable on top of some alfalfa, the other seven drivers were set in front of their wagons, under guard, and the entire outfit was soon making its return trip to Vernock.

"Cheer up, Mack!" shouted Jim, by way of heartening.

"Tell me," groaned McLean, "what is under the alfalfa?"

"Just what I told you already, Mack,--good honest flour and feed in one hundred pound sacks, which will help to swell the credit side of your next balance sheet."

"The Lord be thankit!" he groaned. "But I wish one of them had been loaded up with King George's Special."

Jim shot out his tongue.

"Me too!" he answered pawkily.

They had not got very far on their journey, when a lone horseman came dashing toward them over the hill from the direction of Vernock.

It was Chief Palmer. His horse was in a lather and the Chief looked as if he had ridden hard and had been out all night to boot. He wore a crestfallen expression when he drew up alongside.

"Hullo!" he cried, with an a.s.sumption of gaiety. "Holding up the quiet farmer on the public highway? Captured the gang, eh?"

Immensely proud of himself and his achievement, Howden jumped down, intending to give his chief a full account of the capture, but Palmer seemed in no mood to listen, and told him he had better keep his story for later on, and look after his prisoners.

"You don't seem particularly gay over it, Chief!" commented Jim.

"Why should I?" he replied. "I've ridden for two hours, hoping to be in time for the sc.r.a.p, and you fellows beat me to it."

The journey townward continued.

When nearing their destination, they were joined by two more hors.e.m.e.n, Brenchfield--his left foot heavily bound round the ankle--and one of his white ranch hands. The Mayor was surly as usual and seemed in desperation to get in touch with Chief Palmer, who obligingly dropped behind with him. As they brought up the rear, they indulged in a very earnest conversation.

When the wagons were safely harboured in the Police Yard and the thieves safely jailed under lock and key, the Chief, as if to make amends for his previous surliness, shook hands all round and congratulated the men on their coup.

"This will help to make an interesting calendar for the next a.s.sizes, boys. I'll be after all of you for witnesses, so don't get on the rampage anywhere in between times."

"I guess, Morrison, old chap," broke in Brenchfield, "this will end the flour and feed racket for some time to come. We fellows will have a chance to make a little profit out of our businesses at last."

"Oh, you haven't much to worry over," replied Morrison. "You haven't all your eggs in one basket like I have. It is just pin-money for you, but it means bread and b.u.t.ter and bed for me and mine."

Brenchfield steered his horse alongside and laid his hand sympathetically on the old man's shoulder.

"Never mind, Morrison! It is all over now,--so here's to better days."

Morrison was not very responsive, and the Mayor excused himself on the plea of his ankle, his want of sleep and the further pressure of mayoral business.

"Darn it!" exclaimed Morrison to Jim and Phil, as he left them at the end of the avenue, "I used to like Brenchfield, but I don't know what's come over me lately with him. When he laid his hand on me a few minutes ago, I felt as if a wet toad was squatting on the back of my neck."

When they reached home, Jim did not go to his own room immediately. He followed into Phil's and sat down on the edge of the bed as Phil commenced to get out of his clothes preparatory to having a bath.

"Well!--what did you think of it, Phil?" he asked, glad, evidently, to be alone with his comrade where he could at last express his thoughts and pent-up feelings freely.