On Phil went through the back lanes of the town and up the hill toward the railway tracks, almost trotting in his endeavour to keep pace with the tireless Smiler.

They went past the three Warehouses,––Brenchfield’s, The Pioneer Traders’ and that of The O.K. Supply Company,––till Smiler came to a stand-still in front of an old, unused barn which stood in the yard in front of the central Warehouse belonging to Graham Brenchfield. Phil pushed his way inside and looked about him inquiringly.

Smiler pointed to a coal-oil lamp which hung––a dark shadow––from a nail on the wall.

Phil closed the barn door tightly, struck a match and set the lantern alight.

The barn floor was littered with damp, stale-smelling straw. Smiler kicked some of it away and knelt down. He commenced to work his fingers into the flooring boards. He gave an inarticulate chuckle when he came to a certain part, gave a tug, and immediately half of the floor swung up on well-oiled hinges, disclosing a cellar or vault almost big enough to let down a dray-load of merchandise at a time.

Phil whistled.

Smiler seized the lamp and started down by a wooden ladder, but Phil grabbed him by the coat collar, pulled him sheer out, planting him down on the floor by his side.

“After me, my dear Alphonso?” he commanded, going down the ladder with the lamp in one hand and his revolver in the other, holding on to the side of the ladder at the same time with a few of his fingers, as best he could.

He had hardly reached the bottom when Smiler was tumbling beside him. The boy ran over to a corner of the cellar. Phil followed.

A huddled bundle lay on the damp ground. Phil dropped beside it and turned it over, setting down his lantern.

It was the unconscious form of Jim Langford, trussed with knotted ropes until it looked more like a bale of cast-off clothing than a human being. Jim’s face was white and all bloody-streaked at the forehead and mouth.

Phil took out his knife and slashed at the ropes. He chafed the arms and legs. He tossed his hat to Smiler and said one word:

“Water!”

Smiler ran off up the ladder and was back in less than a minute.

Phil seized the hat and splashed some of the cold water on the upturned face, wiping the blood from Jim’s mouth with his handkerchief.

After a bit, Jim sighed and opened his eyes. Phil held his hat to the oozy lips and Jim drank greedily. Soon he was all alert. He sprang to his feet, staring around him wildly.

“Damn them, the Siwashes! Damn them,––they got me! And they’ve got awa’.”

Then he sagged at the knees and collapsed.

He did not lose consciousness again.

“Take your time!––take your time!” cautioned Phil.

Slowly Jim’s strength returned and his brain cleared. He wanted to be up and away at once, but Phil, with 167 his usual caution, insisted on hearing everything that had happened before he would move a foot, knowing that if anything had still to be done Jim would be none the worse for half an hour’s rest.

“Stay where you are and tell me all about it,” he insisted.

“Stay! Hang it, man,––I canna stay. Come on! I’ll show ye. It will be better than sitting here and talking. But bide a bit! We’ll get them yet or my name’s no’ Jim Langford.

“Smiler,” he cried, “come here laddie!”

The boy came forward.

“Go up to Mrs. Clunie’s. Shut the barn door up there after ye. Don’t make a noise. Saddle our two horses and bring them doon to the corner. Our rifles as well;-they’re in the locker behind the stable door! Quick! Awa’ wi’ ye!”

Smiler nodded his head rapidly and was up the ladder and off like a shot.

“Come along here!” Jim continued to Phil.

Phil sucked his breath at what he saw, or rather did not see.

It was not a cellar after all,––but a tunnel.

“Weel ye may gasp!” ejaculated Jim, holding up the lantern and peering ahead. “Come on!

“Have you your revolver?”

“Yes!”

“Keep a grip of it then. I hardly think there’ll be a body here now. But it’s as well to keep your wits about ye.”

Jim went on first and Phil followed.

Phil’s foot struck metal. He looked down.

Two rails ran along the bottom of the tunnel.

“Nothing obsolete about this bunch!” whispered Jim jocularly.

They followed along in caution till they came to a truck on the rails capable of holding twenty sacks of flour or feed at a time.

On either side of them were walls of sacked flour and other grain.

“The Lord only knows how far this underground warehouse extends,” remarked Jim, “and how many thousands of dollars worth of stuff is cached away in it, ready to haul away as the chance comes along.”

They passed on until they must have been under Brenchfield’s warehouse, when the tunnel dead-ended, branching off to the right and to the left.

Jim stopped.

“That’s about all,” he said. “Brenchfield’s warehouse is above us. The Pioneer Traders’ is at the end that way. The O.K. Supply Company’s is at the other end.

“See! There is a trap door in each, like this up here, that drops inward and acts as a chute for sliding down the stuff right onto the track. Simplest thing on earth, and it has been going on for years with devil a body the wiser.”

“Well!––of all the elaborate thieving schemes!” exclaimed Phil, dumbfounded.

“Elaborate nothing! Why, man, thousands and thousands of dollars worth of feed and flour have been stolen from these three places in the last five years––as much as ten thousand dollars at a crack.

“I’m thinking they’ve got off with that much right this very night. It is just a great big organised, dirty steal,––that’s all. Little wonder some folks get rich quick in this Valley, without any apparent outward reason for their luck either in themselves or in what they seem to be engaged in.”

“How did you find all this out?” inquired Phil, his face white with excitement.

“Oh,––easy enough in a way! I was in Brenchfield’s warehouse, hiding. I told you I had the key to it. By good or bad luck––I don’t know which––I was hiding on top of the darned trap door without being aware of it. I heard a noise, and thought it was in the warehouse where I was. Suddenly the flour sacks on every side of me began to slide. I had just to slide with them; there was nothing else for it; and before I could wink I was down here and in among the gang,––Rob Roy McGregor, Summers, Skookum, and half a dozen others; the whole of that Redmans gang; half-breeds and dirty whites.

“I shot a hole in one of them, then my gun got struck out of my hand. I knocked down two with my fists and made a dash for it. I got to the ladder at the old barn there and ran up, but I forgot about a man who happened to be at the top. He dropped the trap-door crash on my head, and that’s the last I can mind.”

“Good Lord!” cried Phil.

“And the murdering hounds, not content with that, trussed you up and left you here like a rat in a sewer.”

“Ay!––to come back later, maybe, when they had more time, finish me off and bury me in the bowels o’ the earth.”

Jim pulled himself together.

“Phil,” he cried, “come on! We’re wasting time here. I’m going to get that bunch before I sleep.”

Once outside, they reclosed the barn-door, leaving everything exactly as they had found it. Up the road a little, the faithful Smiler was standing with the two rifles, two cartridge belts, and the two horses from Mrs. Clunie’s saddled and bridled to perfection.

“Smiler!––go home to bed,” said Jim.

Smiler nodded, grinned and ran off.

“Phil, do you know where Jack McLean, the manager of The Pioneer Traders, lives?”

“Yes!”

“Then tear up there and put him wise. Get hold of Blair, their grocery man, as well. He’s a grand scrapper. Get them to bring their rifles.

“Don’t tell a soul but these two what the game is.”

“What else?”

“I’m going to rustle up Morrison of the O.K. Supply, then down to the Town Hall for two or three who are game for a free-for-all. Make hell-bent-for-leather down to Allison’s Wharf at Okanagan Landing. We can leave our horses there, cross the lake to the other side below Redmans, and be on the main road there that leads from Vernock to Redmans a full hour ahead of them; and collar the bunch––men, wagons, feed and every damned thing, as they come sliddering along thinking they’re safe.”

“Jee-rusalem!” cried Phil, as the plan dawned on him.

“But are you sure they are taking the road that way and that Redmans will be where they are making for?”

“You bet I’m sure! And the long way round the hills and the head of the lake is the only way they can make Redmans with heavy wagons. Any bairn knows that they’ll reckon to get there just before dawn. The whole bunch are breeds and klootchmen from there, and they’re not likely to cache their steal any place but where they can get at it handy. Now, off you go!”

Phil sprang into his saddle.

“Say!” whispered Jim, straining upwards, “I’m going to bring the Mayor along.”

“Oh, hang the Mayor!” cried Phil hotly. “If we are going to be helping him in any way, I guess you can count me out.”

“But, Phil, laddie;––McLean of the Pioneer Company is coming, and Morrison of the O.K. Company is coming.

“We can hardly leave Brenchfield out.” Jim’s voice was somewhat sarcastic in its tone.

“Oh, I suppose not!” said Phil sourly, and unconvinced.

Jim laughed.

“Man, but you’re thick in the skull. Eh, but it’s a lark!” he remarked, giving Phil’s mare a whack on the flank and sending her galloping off without further words of elucidation.

Phil found Jack McLean in his front parlour––late as it was––reading a book to his last pipe before turning in. In as few words as possible, he told him of what had happened and of the plan for the capture of the thieves. McLean required no persuading. In five minutes he was on his horse, ready for any escapade and swearing as volubly as only a hardened official of the Pioneer Traders can who has been systematically robbed without being able to lay the thieves by the heels.

In ten minutes more, McLean, big Blair and Phil were heading west, galloping hard for the Landing at the head of the Okanagan Lake.

The night was dark as pitch; there wasn’t a star in the sky nor was there a breath of moving air anywhere.

They reached Allison’s Wharf in quick time, roused the complaining lake-freighter and got him busy on his large gasoline launch. Not long after that a clatter of hoofs on the hard roadway, a sudden stoppage, and the sound of deep voices, betrayed the arrival of the others: Langford, Morrison, Thompson the Government Agent, and the one police official whom Phil felt was absolutely above suspicion,––Howden, who was Chief Palmer’s deputy––and Brenchfield, surly as a bear;––all powerful men and capable of giving a good account of themselves in a tight place.

They were eight, all told, with Allison in addition looking 172 after his own affairs, and they set out across the lake for the quiet little landing below the Redmans settlement, leaving their horses at Allison’s place.

“Howden,––why didn’t you bring the Chief?” asked Phil.

“Wish to hell we had! Might have saved me the trouble of coming. He’s up on the ranges somewhere. There’s a lot of cattle missing up there lately and he’s keen on catching some of the rustlers red-handed.”

“Or red-headed,” grinned Jim. “This trip might prove the way to catch them too.”

“Do you think the same bunch is operating both jobs?” asked Howden.

“Sure!” replied Jim.

“Oh, give us a rest!” broke in Brenchfield. “A smart lot you wise-Alicks know about it. To hear you talk, one would think you had been raised on a detective farm.”

Jim laughed good-naturedly.

“All right, old man! Don’t get sore. You’ve been a grouch ever since we asked you to come along. One would think you didn’t have any interests tied up in this affair.”

“Then I guess that one has another think coming,” answered the Mayor.

“Well,––you’re devilish enthusiastic over it; that’s all I’ve got to say,” interjected Morrison, who was simply bubbling over with excitement and expectancy,––not so much from the thought of recovering his stolen property as from a hope that, if the thieves were captured, he would at last have a chance to reap the benefits of his labours, unmolested.

“Who wants to be enthusiastic on a wild-goose chase like this?” commented Brenchfield. “I’ve been on the run these last three weeks, dancing all this evening, and now the delightful prospect of lying in a ditch till morning, 173 and nothing at all at the end of it but the possibility of a rheumatic fever. You juvenile bath-tub pirates and Sherlock Holmeses give me a pain.”

“And I’ll bet you a new hat we’ll land the whole rotten bunch of them before we’re through,” challenged Morrison.

“Forget it!” grouched Brenchfield, “I’ve lost as much as any man here, but I haven’t made a song and dance about it like some people I know. I am just as anxious as any of you to see the thieves in jail.”

Evidently it was not a night for pleasant conversations, and tempers seemed to be more or less on edge, so little more was said until the launch ran quietly alongside the old, unused wharf a quarter of a mile east of the new one at Redmans.

The men got out, one after another, leaving Allison to make his way back to his own side, alone; as they did not require him further.

Jim led the way through the bush and up the trail toward the main highway.

They had not gone more than two hundred yards, when a muttered oath, a noise of stumbling, and a crash, brought them to a stand-still. It was Brenchfield who had stumbled into a hole or over a log. Ready hands helped him up, but he immediately dropped back on the ground with a groan, in evident pain from his ankle.

“Hell mend it!” he growled. “I’ve turned my ankle in a blasted gopher hole or something.”

He writhed about in agony.

“Guess I’m out this trip,” he moaned.

“Toots!” put in Jim. “You’ll be all right in a minute. Let us give your foot a bit of a rub!”

“Strike a light and let me see what’s what,” suggested the Mayor.

Someone started in to do so.

“Not on your life!” cried Jim. “Haven’t you got more savvy than that? Do you want the whole of that gang up there in on our top?”

A dog barked in the distance and the bark was taken up ominously by other dogs around the settlement.

“Lower your voices and don’t make any racket, for God’s sake!” pleaded Jim. “Come on, make a try, Brenchfield!”

“What else do you think I’m doing?” growled the Mayor between his teeth. He did make a strong effort then, but was unable to bear his foot on the ground.

“Darn it! It’s no good!” he exclaimed, sitting down disgustedly on a log.

“Well, boys,” returned Jim, in a hopeless tone, “I guess we’ve got to leave him. One of us will have to stay with the Mayor. That will leave six for the job ahead of us. Guess we can manage! Will you stay with him, Blair?”

“Sure thing!” came the ready reply, “but I hate to miss the fun.”

The Mayor’s face could not be seen, but his voice broke in rather too quickly:

“Good heavens!––my own ranch is just up there over the hill. I can creep there on my hands and knees inside of half an hour;––and I won’t have to do that.

“No, siree! Nobody’s going to stay with me. I’m all right. I’ll get along nicely by myself. Every man-jack of you is needed for the job. Go on! Beat it! Don’t worry about me.”

“We’re not worrying about you, Graham,” retorted Jim, not sufficiently suggestive to set the Mayor at discomfort. “But you know the rule of the trail, same as we do. When a man gets hurt on a hunting trip, another of the bunch stays with him. Joe Blair is willing to stay behind.”

“He won’t stay with me, I tell you;––this thing isn’t going to be held up or spoiled for me,” exclaimed the Mayor. “I’ll crawl with you on my fours, first.”

He started to carry out his threat.

Three times he fell and groaned in pain, until Jim became convinced that Brenchfield’s foot was really badly sprained.

“Won’t you leave me here? I’ll be all right in a while,” cried out Brenchfield, “then I can make my own place in my own time.”

“Oh, let’s leave him, Jim. We may need every man we’ve got,” said Morrison, “and if any of us take him to his place, it might arouse suspicion.”

“Yes!––what’s the good of losing two men when one is all we need let go?” added McLean.

“All right, all right!” said Jim. “Here’s the flask, Mayor. Come on, boys! Time’s passing and we’ve a goodish bit to go yet.”