A stocky figure detached itself from the group of twelve or fifteen bunched around the door. "You're obstructing the law! Open that door!" "Easy now," returned Marlin. "I'm not obstructing any law. I just want to know what it's all about? Who are you?" "Sheriff Bates of Grinnell County. You're harboring an outlaw--the Picaroon Kid." "Never heard of him. What'd he do?" "Held up a bank, for one thing," snapped the sheriff. "Wanted for other jobs and for killing two deputies. You gonna open that door?" "Sure, I'll open it," Marlin spoke slowly, trying to give Sally time. "The poor devil's carcass is full of lead--no danger of his getting away." * * * * * Withdrawing, Marlin methodically fastened the window, then had an ostentatiously difficult time manipulating the door lock. "Cut out that stalling!" called the sheriff furiously. "Are you gonna open up, or do we smash our way in?" Marlin opened the door. With an impatient grunt, the sheriff brushed past him, glaring around uncertainly. "Where'd you hide him?" The outlaw's gun lay on the floor where it had been dropped in his fall, and a trail of blood led across the board floor. The sheriff snatched up the weapon, then crossed the room in a stride, flinging open the inner door. He peered down the tunnel. "Some hideout!" he commented. "We'll look into this. Come on, men." Marlin moved ahead of them, managing to delay progress by feeling his way with extreme caution through the dark passage. Eventually, they emerged on the shelving ledge. "Where'd he go?" demanded the sheriff, surveying the scene. "You know as much as I do." A hasty search of bunkhouses and cook shack was sufficient to show that they were unoccupied. Two or three of the posse discovered a continuation of the blood trail, and they followed it to the descent which led to the sphere. Marlin's anxious eyes caught a glimpse of a bare foot disappearing in the entrance pipe. No one else was in sight. "What's that big ball?" demanded the sheriff, staring. "You've got me." The blood trail led unmistakably toward the sphere. Soon the sheriff was peering curiously through the opening. "The Kid's inside all right. Blood smears all down the pipe. Somebody climb in after him." The men looked uncertainly at one another. It would be a simple matter for any armed person inside to put a bullet through the first head that showed itself. The sheriff evidently had no relish for the prospect and did not care to designate any one for the job. He turned to Marlin. "You go in there," he ordered. "Tell your buddies they'll save trouble by bein' reasonable. Tell 'em to pass the Kid out. If they don't we'll toss a few tear gas bombs inside. You gonna do it?" "What else can I do?" With some forcible assistance from behind, Marlin worked his way down the tube. At the inner edge, hands grasped him by the shoulders and helped him to land on a floor of some kind.