"What do you suppose that means?" asked Cole. But the actions of the man-hunter were his answer. Approaching the tent, he shook the flap and, receiving no response, raised one corner, thrusting the package of doped wine underneath. Their suspicions excited, especially as the intruder taking advantage of their absence to peer at everything he could see of their belongings, Jesse yelled: "Hi there! Get out of that tent! What are you up to, anyhow?" Springing back at the unexpected challenge the man-hunter turned to see who had hailed him. "Dillaby, the Pinkerton superintendent in Kansas City, as I live," breathed the bandit-chieftain to his pals. "This _is_ getting hot. Come on till we see what he's up to. If he tries to get away draw your guns." Then, raising his voice he cried: "What are you doing, down on your hands and knees, spying into my camp?" The shouts of the world-famous desperado quickly drew a crowd to the spot. Turning to them, he complained bitterly: "It seems strange that three gentlemen can't come to Monegaw Springs and live in quiet, without you all haunting them day and night and gawping at them. Why, we can't even leave our tent without some one trying to enter it. "This man, here," and he pointed to the detective, "was just crawling in when we happened to come along and saw him." "That's not so," protested Dillaby, realizing that his position was becoming uncomfortable. "Then what were you doing? Are you in the habit of going 'round sticking your head into every camp you see?" "I was merely delivering a package." "That's a likely story." "You can see for yourself by looking in. As I found no one at home, I stooped to place it under the canvas and--" "Staid to see what you could see," interrupted Jesse. "Ted," looking at Cole, "find out if there is any bundle inside." Eagerly the crowd awaited his reply. "Yes, there is one," he called. "_Now_ will you believe me?" demanded the man-hunter, anxious to escape from his inquisitors. "Not yet. That may be just a blind to be used in case we were at home or you were caught sneaking in, as you were. "_It's my opinion you are a thief!_" Crimsoning at the charge, Dillaby looked about him helplessly. No suspicion was there in his mind as to the true identity of the man before him. That he was the Mr. Howard he had no doubt from the clever manner in which the outlaw had twisted appearances against him and so serious was his predicament that he feared it would be necessary to call upon Mr. Rozier to extricate him--an event that would lay bare the whole plot. Enjoying the man's misery, the world famous desperado determined to make him disclose his purpose. "Do you know what's in the package?" he asked. "I do." "What?" "Wine." "There's some writing on the wrapper," interrupted Cole. "It says 'for Mr. Thomas Howard, with best wishes from an admirer.'" "Ah! how romantic," grinned Jesse. "Can it be, sir, that you are the one who sent me the wine?"