Anderson scrambled to his feet, pawing the air with his hands, his eyes tightly shut. He was yelling for help. Now, it was this yelling for help that deceived the astonished Mr. Bonaparte. He jumped at once to the conclusion that the Marshal was calling for assistance from the _outside_. So he threw up his hands! "I--surrender! I give in!" he yelled. "Keep them off! Don't let them get at me!" [Illustration: _"I--I surrender! I give in!" he yelled_] Anderson opened his eyes and stared. He found himself in a small, squat room lighted by a lantern which stood upon a crudely made table in the corner beyond Bonaparte. There was a board floor well littered with soil and shavings. In another corner stood a singular looking contraption, not unlike a dynamo. Marshal Crow bethought himself of his mission. Although the breath had been jarred out of his body, he managed to say,--explosively: "I--I got a warrant for your arrest. Come along now! Don't resist. Don't make a fuss. Come along peaceably. I--" "I'll come, Mr. Crow. I was dragged into this thing against my will. _Gott in Himmel! Gott!--_" "Never mind what you got," exclaimed Anderson sharply. "You come along with me or you'll get something worse'n that." "Is--is he dead!" groaned Bonaparte, his eyes almost starting from his head. Anderson backed away from the sprawling, motionless figure on the floor. "I--I--gosh, I hope not. I--I was as much surprised as anybody. Say, you see if he's breathin'. We got to git him out o' this place right away an' send for a doctor. The good Lord knows I didn't intend to light on him like that. It was an accident, I swear it was. You know just how it happened, an'--you'll stand by me, won't you, if--" Just then a loud voice came from above. "Hey, down there!" A second's pause. Then: "We've got you dead to rights, so no monkey business. Come up out o' that, or we'll pump enough lead down there to--" "Don't shoot,--don't shoot!" yelled Mr. Bonaparte shrilly. "Tell your men not to fire, Mr. Crow!" "Tell--tell _who_?" cried Anderson blankly. Suddenly he sprang to his companion's side; seizing him by the arm, he whispered hoarsely: "By gosh, I thought there was somethin' queer about that gang. Have you got any of the gold here? I recollect that feller's voice, plain as day. They're after the gold. They've heard about--" "Are you coming up?" roared the voice from the outer world. "Who are you?" called back Anderson stoutly. "Oh, I guess you'll recognize United States marshals when you see 'em. Come on, now." Abraham Lincoln Bonaparte faced Marshal Crow, the truth dawning upon him like a flash. "You damned old rube!" he snarled, and forthwith planted his fist under Anderson's chin-whiskers, with such surprising force that the old man once more landed heavily on the prostrate form of the unfortunate Bacon. "O-oh, gosh!" groaned Anderson, and as his eyes rolled upward he saw a million stars chasing each other around the ceiling.