"It's right smart of both," the leader of the posse drawled, in a voice which betrayed the fact that he hailed from somewhere in the far Southwest. "We're in quest of a bag of rice--a bag with a rip in it and 'W. K.' on the side. While I slap your pockets, just to see if you're ironed, these gentlemen are goin' to look over your outfit." "This is an outrage!" Jim McCaskey complained. "I'm just getting over one stick-up. I'm a sick man." "Sure!" his brother exclaimed, furiously. "You're a pack of fools! What d'you want, anyhow?" "We want you to shut up! See that you do." The old man's eyes snapped. "If you've got to say something, tell us how there happens to be a trail of rice from this man's cache"--he indicated one of his companions--"right up to your tent." The McCaskeys exchanged glances. Phillips turned a startled face upon them. "It isn't much of a trail, but it's enough to follow." For a few moments nothing was said, and meanwhile the search of the tent went on. When Pierce could no longer remain silent he broke out: "There's some mistake. These boys packed this grub from Dyea and I helped with some of it." "Aren't you partners?" some one inquired. Joe McCaskey answered this question. "No. He landed broke. We felt sorry for him and took him in." Joe was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the searchers. "Here it is!" said the man. He had unearthed a bulging canvas sack which he flung down for inspection. "There's my mark, 'W. K.,' and there's the rip. I knew we had 'em right!" After a brief examination the leader of the posse turned to his prisoners, whose hands were still held high, saying: "Anything you can think of in the way of explanations you'd better save for the miners' meeting. It's waitin' to welcome you. We'll put a guard over this plunder till the rest of it is identified. Now, then, fall in line and don't crowd. After you, gentlemen." Pierce Phillips realized that it was useless to argue, for his words would not be listened to, therefore he followed the McCaskeys out into the open air. The odium of this accusation was hard to bear; he bitterly resented his situation and something told him he would have to fight to clear himself; nevertheless, he was not seriously concerned over the outcome. Public feeling was high, to be sure; the men of Sheep Camp were in a dangerous frame of mind and their actions were liable to be hasty, ill-considered--their verdict was apt to be fantastic--but, secure in the knowledge of his innocence, Pierce felt no apprehension. Rather he experienced a thrill of excitement at the contretemps and at the ordeal which he knew was forthcoming. The Countess Courteau had called him a boy. This wasn't a boy's business; this was a real man-sized adventure. "Gee! What a day this has been!" he said to himself. CHAPTER IV