Blue Poppy.

A consultation and then the creeping forms made the last fifty feet.
The sheriff took the lead, at last to stop behind a boulder and to
shout a command:

"Hey you, in there."

"'Ey yourself!" It was Harry's voice.

"Come out--and be quick about it. Hold your light in front of your
face with both hands."

"The 'ell I will! And 'oo 's talking?"

"Sheriff Adams of Clear Creek County. You 've got one minute to come
out--or I 'll shoot."

"I 'm coming on the run!"

And almost instantly the form of Harry, his acetylene lamp lighting up
his bulbous, surprised countenance with its spraylike mustache,
appeared at the mouth of the tunnel.

"What the bloody 'ell?" he gasped, as he looked into the muzzle of the
revolver. From down the mountain side came the shout of one of the
deputies:

"Sheriff! Looks like it's him, all right. I 've found a horse down
here--all sweated up from running."

"That's about the answer." Sheriff Adams went forward and with a
motion of his revolver sent Harry's hands into the air. "Let's see
what you 've got on you."

A light gleamed below as an electric flash in the hands of one of the
deputies began an investigation of the surroundings. The sheriff,
finishing his search of 'Arry's pockets, stepped back.

"Well," he demanded, "what did you do with the proceeds?"

"The proceeds?" Harry stared blankly. "Of what?"

"Quit your kidding now. They 've found your horse down there."

"Would n't it be a good idea--" Fairchild had cut in acridly--"to save
your accusations on this thing until you're a little surer of it?
Harry has n't any horse. If he 's rented one, you ought to be able to
find that out pretty shortly."

As if in answer, the sheriff turned and shouted a question down the
mountain side. And back came the answer:

"It's Doc Mason's. Must have been stolen. Doc was at the dance."

"I guess that settles it." The officer reached for his hip pocket.
"Stick out your hands, Harry, while I put the cuffs on them."

"But 'ow in bloody 'ell 'ave I been doing anything when I 've been up
'ere working on this chiv wheel? 'Ow--?"

"They say you held up the dance to-night and robbed us," Fairchild cut
in. Harry's face lost its surprised look, to give way to a glance of
keen questioning.

"And do you say it?"

"I most certainly do not. The identification was given by that
honorable person known as Mr. Maurice Rodaine."

"Oh! One thief identifying anot