“But we think you have,” put in Clem, which was not altogether diplomatic, if it seemed best not to put this man on his guard. Don saw the drift that matters would soon take and parleying was not in order. “Say, Dutch, listen: You’re wrong; we are bandits and this is a real hold-up; see? If you’re not the party we want you can hustle back here again, quick.” Shultz put in his inflated oar: “Bah! You do not vant me. No! I vill not go mit you!” “Oh, yes you will, or get a lot of lead in you,” Don asserted. “We surely wish you to do just as we say,” Clem added. Perhaps it was growing a little hard for him to keep up his courage, but not so with Don; the more that youth was confronted with difficulties, the more determined he became and he was now about as mad as a June hornet. “Go on out into the road and head for town and no more shenanigan! In two seconds more I’m going to begin shooting and I’d rather kill somebody right now than get a million dollars.” “Now, just a minute, young gentleman.” The bearded man’s voice was most appealing. “If this is a hold-up and you want money, why then, I can gladly--” The fellow’s hand went into his hip pocket and he edged toward Don. “Back up! Say, by thunder I’m just going to kill you, anyhow!” was Don’s reply and upon the instant he almost had to make good his word, for the man leaped right at him, with a snarl resembling that of an angry cat. But the boy was ready and even quicker; dropping the muzzle of his weapon a little he fired and dodged aside at the same time. The man stumbled and fell upon the frozen ground; he floundered a little; then sat up. “You back up, too, Shultz, or you’ll get it! Now, then, Clem, hunt a wheelbarrow and we’ll just cart this chap to town, anyway. You and Shultz can take turns. Hurry, Clem; there must be one around somewhere. Go into the house, Mrs. Shultz; we won’t hurt your husband if he doesn’t get gay.” CHAPTER V REWARDED The procession that wound out of the gate, down the road, over the railroad tracks, past the station, into and along the main street a little way, then down the broad cross street to the mills was indeed a queer one; naturally one to draw the attention of a crowd, if there had been anyone on the street so early in the morning to see it. Those who were up and about, who had not gone back to bed after the explosion, had stayed at the mill to join in the well-paid-for work of rehabilitation, or to stand around and discuss the crime. When the slow-moving caravan arrived, after a toilsome trip with many stops for rest, Clem having been the motive power all the way for the squeaking, one-wheeled vehicle, the crowd at the mill paused to observe and consider this rather startling performance. Christmas night was one long to be remembered in Lofton.