"Goldurn yer!" cried Old King Brady. "What on airth dew yer mean by holdin' up a feller citizen this way?" One of the masked men emerged from behind the rocks. He was nicely clad, wore a big felt hat, had long hair hanging down on his shoulders and a brown mustache on his upper lip. This man looked like a southern planter. A hideous half mask of black hid the upper half of his face and the Winchester he carried was aimed at the officers. He intently studied Old King Brady's face a few moments, then asked: "What were you skulking along after that negro for?" The moment the officers heard his voice they recognized him, despite his disguise, as Ronald Mason. Affecting an indignant air, Old King Brady growled: "Goldurn it, who wuz afollerin' that nigger?" "You were." "No, we wuzn't!" "I'll find out about that! Hey, Sim!" "Am dat yo', Massa Ronald?" cried the coon, running back. "Yes, and here are two fellows sneaking along on your trail." "Wha' fo'?" demanded the darky. "Hanged if I know. Look at them." "Fo' de Lawd sakes, dey was on de train wif me, sah." "They were, hey? That's suspicious." "Oh, go 'long!" said Old King Brady. "Can't a man walk along here without bein' held up like a burglar by you chaps? Gosh durn it, if it's robbery yer up ter, it's mighty little money you'll find on me." "We ain't thieves." "Wall, I'm blamed if yer don't look like it." "Sim, take a good look at those gents and if you happen to find any guns about their clothes just relieve them of them." "Yassah," said the coon. He got so close to Old King Brady that he suddenly detected the fact that the detective was wearing a wig and false beard. The cunning negro did not let on what he had seen. But he suddenly grabbed them and pulled them off the old detective. It effected a startling change in Old King Brady's appearance, and Mason recognized him at once, and roared furiously: "I'll be blest if it ain't those cussed detectives again!" "Lawd amassy!" groaned Sim, all his courage departing, and he made a sudden dash for the swamp and rushed away, spattering up showers of mud and water. The Bradys swiftly drew their pistols. It was clear that a fight was imminent. The man with the rifle pulled the trigger, intending to shoot the old detective, but his weapon missed fire. "Run!" yelled his companion behind the rocks, and he shot at Harry just as Mason made a dash for shelter. A bullet whistled by dangerously close to Young King Brady's cheek, and he discharged a shot at the running man. It carried off his hat. The next moment the three rascals vanished. Harry and his partner made an effort to find them, but failed. All hands had gone plunging among the weeds and shrubbery, and in an instant were swallowed up by the verdure. "A warm welcome, Harry," said Old King Brady, when they met on the railroad track five minutes later. "I'm sorry Mason caught us shadowing the valet."