“I'm working for the state prison, not the state insane asylum.” “Well,” drawled the other, “though I don't know what he's preaching, the general fussed-up condition here in this town reminds me of what happened in Carmel when I lived there as a boy. One of them go-upper preachers struck town. He finally got most of our neighbors into a state of whee-ho where the womenfolks made ascension robes for all concerned and the menfolks built a high platform and they all climbed up on it and waited all one night for Gabr'el's trump to sound.” “What's that got to do with this town?” demanded Mr. Bangs, impatiently. “Why, considering how near busted the town is--and all the timber cut off and the farms run out--I wouldn't wonder a mite if the right kind of a preacher could get 'em into a frame of mind where they'd be willing to start for anywhere--even straight down, provided they couldn't arrange matters so as to go straight up, like the Carmel folks planned on. Not as how I say that these folks are going to get up and hump it out of Egypt! But there's a whole lot of restle-ness in 'em! That's plain enough to be seen!” “If there's half as much of it in 'em as there is in me, right now, they'll all follow me when I drive out of town in the morning,” declared Mr. Bangs. “And what that king pin, name o' Britt, is building that palace over there for is beyond my guess.” “Expects to grab off the girl of the Vaniman case,” said the aide, who had put himself in the way of hearing all the local gossip. Mr. Bangs lighted a fresh cigar. “Say, I'd like to find out whether this stir here is a go-upper proposition. I'd join the party and go up, too, if I thought I could locate that cashier and find out where he hid that mess of gold.” “Try the ouija board,” giggled the aide. However, in his desperate desire for information in general Mr. Bangs proceeded to try something which suited better his practical turn of mind. He hailed Prophet Elias, who had appeared in the open door of Usial Britt's shop. The gloom of the autumn evening was deepened by vapor which came drifting from the lowlands after the night air had chilled the moisture evoked by the sun from the soil. The open door set a patch of radiance on the dun robe of the dusk. The light spread upon the vapor, was diffused in it, furnished an aura of soft glow in the center of which stood the robed figure. Deputy Bangs's first hail, when Elias opened the door and stood revealed, was contemptuously brusque; he used the tone he commonly employed toward his charges in prison; he perceived at first only the queer old chap, the dusty plodder of the highways, the man of cracked wits. Bangs spoke as an officer, peremptorily: “Say, you! Come over here. I want to talk with you!”