Would they wait until morning, or would they come soon? He was inclined to the latter guess, so he was only slightly startled when, an hour or two later, he heard the knob of the cabin-door turned. A moment later came a crash and the door was burst open, with the shoulder of a heavy man behind it. The room was in confusion in a second. Men sprang to their feet, crying out; others sat up bewildered, still half asleep. The room was bright from an electric torch in the hands of one of the invaders. “There's the fellow!” cried a voice, which Hal instantly recognised as belonging to Jeff Cotton, the camp-marshal. “Stick 'em up, there! You, Joe Smith!” Hal did not wait to see the glint of the marshal's revolver.
There followed a silence. As this drama was being staged for the benefit of the other men, it was necessary to give them time to get thoroughly awake, and to get their eyes used to the light. Meantime Hal stood, his hands in the air. Behind the torch he could make out the faces of the marshal, Bud Adams, Alec Stone, Jake Predovich, and two or three others.
“Now, men,” said Cotton, at last, “you are some of the fellows that want a check-weighman. And this is the man you chose. Is that right?”
There was no answer.
“I'm going to show you the kind of fellow he is. He came to Mr. Stone here and offered to sell you out.”
“It's a lie, men,” said Hal, quietly.
“He took some money from Mr. Stone to sell you out!” insisted the marshal.
“It's a lie,” said Hal, again.
“He's got that money now!” cried the other.
And Hal cried, in turn, “They are trying to frame something on me, boys! Don't let them fool you!”
“Shut up,” commanded the marshal; then, to the men, “I'll show you. I think he's got that money on him now. Jake, search him.”
The store-clerk advanced.
“Watch out, boys!” exclaimed Hal. “They will put something in my pockets.” And then to Old Mike, who had started angrily forward, “It's all right, Mike! Let them alone!”
“Jake, take off your coat,” ordered Cotton. “Roll up your sleeves. Show your hands.”
It was for all the world like the performance of a prestidigitator. The little Jew took off his coat and rolled up his sleeves above his elbows. He exhibited his hands to the audience, turning them this way and that; then, keeping them out in front of him, he came slowly towards Hal, like a hypnotist about to put him to sleep.
“Watch him!” said Cotton. “He's got that money on him, I know.”
“Look sharp!” cried Hal. “If it isn't there, they'll put it there.”
“Keep your hands up, young fellow,” commanded the marshal. “Keep back from him there!” This last to Mike Sikoria and the other spectators, who were pressing nearer, peering over one another's shoulders.
It was all very serious at the time, but afterwards, when Hal recalled the scene, he laughed over the grotesque figure of Predovich searching his pockets while keeping as far away from him as possible, so that every one might know that the money had actually come out of Hal's pocket. The searcher put his hands first in the inside pockets, then in t............