“You go right well heeled for a guest of the hoity-toity,” remarked the sergeant, also pleasurably excited. “We’ll just book you for a double felony under the Sullivan law.” At the threat, “mother” took a step toward her companion, evidently appreciating that this last charge was due to the service rendered in fore-disarming without fore-warning her. She looked ready to confess her ownership of the black gun, as she was trying to get the sergeant’s attention around the interposed bulk of Pudge O’Shay. But she paused when she saw Pape hand a yellow pig-skin card-case to the officer. “Before you ’phone your friend Welch the glad news that you’ve got a double-barreled Sullivan on me,” he requested, “calm yourself by a look at this.” The sergeant obliged; aloud read sketchily from the filled-in courtesy card signed by his chief, the commissioner of police. “Peter S. Pape, deputy sheriff, Snowshoe County, Montana. Permitted to carry arms while in pursuit of fugitives from justice.” His pleased expression faded; rather, appeared to pass from his face to that of the prisoner. And indeed, Pape felt that he had reason to be pleased. Only that week, in preparation for any trail’s-end contretemps, he had taken the precaution of presenting at Police Headquarters his credentials from the home county sheriff. Sooner than expected, if somewhat otherwise, preparedness had won. “You’re not going to tell me you thought them fugitives was buried on the far side of the park?” the sergeant grumbled. “Wish they were. Say, if you think there’s any chance of your friend Welch dropping in for a social call, I’d like to swap a few words with him.” “Leave up on Swin Welch! He’s harmless—ain’t been west of Weehawken in his life. Where does this old—that is to say, young lady come in?” “She came in merely as a spectator to cheer me whilst I did my digging exercise. You can have nothing against her.” Obviously the sergeant was troubled. “Wish the lieutenant was here,” he was heard to mutter. Adonis Moore made his way to the desk. “The sheriff is giving you the right dope, serg. All the while Pudge and I was watching, his lady friend didn’t move as much as a clod.” “She wouldn’t need to move more’n a clod if she’d take that bonnet off her head,” his superior commented. “We can’t let her out now. She’s already booked. But likely she’ll make short shrift of the magistrate in the morning. The sheriff I’ve gotta hold on the park despoliation charge. There ain’t nothing in his card allowing for that. He’s entitled to have his guns back, but——” “But how about a thousand dollars cash bail for the two of us on the misdemeanor?” Pape stepped forward to propose, his hand suggestively seeking the inner pocket of his corduroy coat. “The price is a bit high just for the practice of my daily physical culture, still I’ll pay.”