almost instantly.

In the little clearing off to the left, a couple of hundred yards away,
Marshal Crow observed several men at work constructing a "shanty."
Closer at hand, almost lost to view among the pines, rose the thin,
open-work steel tower from which the "drill" was to be operated.
Standing out among the tree-tops were the long cross-bars of steel, and
from them ran the "guy" wires to the ground below. Mr. Crow had never
seen a "drill" before, but he had been told by Mr. Bacon that this was
the newest thing on the market.

The Marshal started off in the direction of the "shanty" and suddenly a
most astonishing thing happened. Mr. Crow disappeared from view as if by
magic!

[Illustration: _The Marshal started off in the direction of the
"shanty"_]

In order to give the drill as wide a berth as possible, he had deployed
widely to the left of the path, making his way somewhat tortuously
through a rough lot of underbrush. Without the slightest warning, the
earth gave way beneath him and down he shot, clawing frantically at the
edges of a well-camouflaged hole in the ground, taking with him a vast
amount of twigs, branches and a net-work of sapling poles.

Not only did he drop a good twelve feet, but he landed squarely upon
the stooping person of Mr. Bacon, who emitted a startling sound that
began as a yell and ended as a grunt. He then crumpled up and spread
himself out flat, with Mr. Crow draped awkwardly across his prostrate
form. For the time being, Mr. Bacon was as still as the grave. He was
out.

Anderson scrambled to his feet, pawing the air with his hands, his eyes
tightly shut. He was yelling for help.

Now, it was this yelling for help that deceived the astonished Mr.
Bonaparte. He jumped at once to the conclusion that the Marshal was
calling for assistance from the _outside_.

So he threw up his hands!

"I--surrender! I give in!" he yelled. "Keep them off! Don't let them get
at me!"

[Illustration: _"I--I surrender! I give in!" he yelled_]

Anderson opened his eyes and stared.

He found himself in a small, squat room lighted by a lantern which stood
upon a crudely made table in the corner beyond Bonaparte. There was a
board floor well littered with soil and shavings. In another corner
stood a singular looking contraption, not unlike a dynamo.

Marshal Crow bethought himself of his mission. Although the breath had
been jarred out of his body, he managed to say,--explosively:

"I--I got a