were young or old, black or white. His fascinated gaze was
riveted upon the object the man deposited carefully on the floor near
the door.

"You are a locksmith, I perceive," remarked the strange man, addressing
Mort. "I'd like to have you see if you can open this box for me. We've
lost or mislaid the key."

"What fer sort of a lock is it?" asked Mort, approaching.

"Hold on, Mort!" called out Mr. Crow. "Don't monkey with that trunk."

[Illustration: _"Hold on, Mort!" called out Mr. Crow. "Don't monkey with
that trunk"_]

The two strangers turned on him.

"Well, who the deuce have we here?" said the man, with some acerbity.

"Oh, what a nice old policeman!" cried the lady, fixing the Marshal with
a pair of intensely blue eyes. Mr. Crow looked at her in amazement.
Could any one as pretty, as dainty and as refined-looking as she be
engaged in the awful business of charming snakes?

"Before we go any further, mister, I've got to know what's inside that
box," said Anderson firmly.

"What's the matter with you?" demanded the other. "There's nothing in it
that need excite the law, my good man."

"This is our town marshal, Anderson Crow," explained Mort Fryback.

"I might have known it," said the stranger. "I've heard a good deal
about Mr. Crow. Well, what's the answer?"

"That's what I want to know," snapped Anderson. "What is the answer?
What kind are they? And how many have you got?"

The stranger was on the point of exploding with indignation when his
fair companion intervened.

"Leave it to me, George dear. You always fly into such a temper. If
you'd only let me attend to the small things, while you look out for
the big ones, we'd get along so much better. Wouldn't we, Mr. Crow?"

She appealed to Mr. Crow so abruptly and so sweetly that he said he
guessed so before he could check himself.

"If you will stay here until we find a key that will fit, Mr. Crow, you
will see with your own eyes what will make them pop out of your head."

"Mort, you keep away from that box, I say!" commanded Anderson, now sure
of his ground. "Do you want to get bit?"

"Oh, dear me, they won't bite you!" cried the young lady. "I promise you
they are most amiable. I have been handling them for several weeks
and--"

Her husband interrupted her. He revealed symptoms of increasing
annoyance.

"See here, let's get busy and open this thing. They've got to be fed,
you know,--and it's all damned poppycock discussing the matter an