‘No, sir, it was Lank. I don’t believe they belong in the Swamp regular. Lank said they were just visiting. He said they’d been fishing when we met them, but they didn’t have any lines or poles in the skiff.’ ‘What sort of looking men were they?’ asked the third occupant of the police launch. He appeared to take interest in the conversation for the first time. Pud described Lank and Cocker as well as he could. ‘Cross-eyes, you say? And a long, crooked nose? And might be all of six feet tall?’ ‘Yes, sir, I think so.’ ‘Know him, Kinsey?’ asked the sheriff. ‘I wouldn’t be surprised. Sounds a lot like Jim Thorbourn. Thorbourn served a term at Joliet about four years back. Hasn’t been heard of since that I know of.’ ‘Counterfeiting?’ inquired the policeman. ‘Passing.’ ‘Well, he doesn’t answer the description of any of the lot we’ve heard of,’ said the policeman. ‘He might have passed the stuff out to them. Son, did you see the place they live in?’ ‘Not very well. It was sort of dark then. It was just a board cabin.’ Pud was trying to piece things together in his mind. The word ‘counterfeiting’ seemed to suggest something to him, but he couldn’t think what! ‘Can you take us to it?’ asked Mr. Kinsey. ‘I’m not sure,’ said Pud. ‘If I could find Tim and――’ He stopped suddenly, staring wide-eyed at the other. ‘What’s wrong?’ demanded the man. Pud found his tongue. ‘Lank took a package with him,’ he said slowly. ‘It――’ ‘What sort of a package?’ Mr. Kinsey asked eagerly. ‘Square. It smelled of ink. I thought it was circulars.’ ‘Where’d he take it?’ ‘To Swamp Hole.’ ‘You been in there, too!’ cried the sheriff. ‘Well, well, what did he do with it?’ pursued Mr. Kinsey impatiently. ‘Nothing,’ said Pud. ‘He left it. It’s here.’ ‘Here! Where? Find it, you young idiot!’ At another time Pud might have resented the title, but now he didn’t notice it. He was searching hurriedly under the confusion of his wrecked tent. Then he found the package, and Mr. Kinsey, who had jumped down beside him, snatched it out of his hands. He didn’t hurry to open it, though. Instead, he turned it over and over and studied it thoroughly. To Pud, wildly impatient, he seemed to be the slowest person he had ever met! Finally, though, Mr. Kinsey took a penknife from a pocket and severed the stout cord. The sheriff and the policeman leaned curiously forward as the coarse brown paper was removed. Then, as the contents were exposed, the sheriff whistled softly, eloquently. Pud’s eyes grew bigger and bigger. There, in two neatly stacked piles, was more money than he had ever dreamed of! CHAPTER XIX THE DESERTED CABIN ‘Phoney?’ asked the sheriff.