Up came the heavy casket, bumping and grating. Even through the rope Sedgwick felt, with horror, the tumbling of the helpless sodden body within. With a powerful effort Kent swung his end up on the mound. The lantern flashed. By its gleam Sedgwick saw Kent striving to force his spade-edge under the coffin lid, to pry it loose. The chuckle sounded again. “That’s enough,” said a heavy voice, with a suggestion of mirthful appreciation. Sheriff Len Schlager stepped from behind a tree. He held a revolver on Kent. Sedgwick made a swift motion and the muzzle swung accurately on him. “Steady, Frank,” warned Kent anxiously. “I’m steady enough,” returned the other. “What a fool I was not to bring a gun.” “Oh, no,” contradicted the scientist. “Of what use is my gun? We’re in the light, and he is in the shadow.” “So you’ve got a gun on you, eh?” remarked the sheriff, his chuckle deepening. “I didn’t say so.” “No; but you gave yourself away. Hands up, please. Both of you.” Four hands went up in the air. Kent’s face, in the light, was very downcast, but from the far corner of his mouth came the faintest ghost of a whistled melody—all in a minor key. It died away on the night air and the musician spoke in rapid French. “_Attention! La ruse gagne. Quand lui donnerai le coup de pied, battez-le á terre._” “What’s that gibberish?” demanded Schlager. “Very well,” said Sedgwick quickly, in the tone of one who accepts instructions. “I’ll be still enough. Go ahead and do the talking.” “Better both keep still,” advised the deceived sheriff. “Anything you say can be used against you at the trial. And the penalty for body-snatching is twenty years in this state.” “Yes; but what constitutes body-snatching?” murmured Kent. “You do, I guess,” retorted the humorous sheriff. “Steady with those hands. Which pocket, please, Professor?” “Right-hand coat, if you want my money,” answered the scientist sullenly. “Nothing like that,” laughed the officer. “Your gun will do, at present.” “I haven’t got any gun.” “I heard you say it! Remember, mine is pointed at your stomach.” “Correct place,” approved Kent, quietly shifting his weight to his left foot. “It’s the seat of human courage. Well!” as Schlager tapped pocket after pocket, without result, “you can’t say I didn’t warn you. _Now_, Frank!” With the word there was a sharp spat as the heel of Kent’s heavy boot, flying up in the _coup de pied_ of his own devising, caught the sheriff full on the wrist breaking the bones, and sending the revolver a-spin into the darkness. As instantly Sedgwick struck, swinging full-armed, and Schlager went down, half-stunned. “Pin him, Frank,” ordered Kent. But Sedgwick needed no directions, now that resolute action was the order of the moment. His elbow was already pressed into the sheriff’s bull neck. Schlager lay still, moaning a little. “Good work, my boy,” approved Kent, who had retrieved the revolver.