“Go easy!” the intruder cautioned him.  “We’ve been laying around, waiting for your pal to get back.”  With a movement of the revolver muzzle he indicated Phillips.  “Now then, stretch!  On your toes and reach high.  You there, get up!” He addressed himself to Jim, who rose from his bed and thrust his hands over his bandaged head.  “That’s nice!” the stranger nodded approvingly.  “Now don’t startle me; don’t make any quick moves or I may tremble this gun off—­ she’s easy on the trigger.”  To his friends he called, “Come in, gentlemen; they’re gentle.”

There were four of the latter; they appeared to be substantial men, men of determination.  All were armed.

Pierce Phillips’ amazement gave way to indignation.  “What is this, an arrest or a hold-up?” he inquired.

“It’s right smart of both,” the leader of the posse drawled, in a voice which betrayed the fact that he hailed from somewhere in the far Southwest.  “We’re in quest of a bag of rice—­a bag with a rip in it and ‘W.  K.’ on the side.  While I slap your pockets, just to see if you’re ironed, these gentlemen are goin’ to look over your outfit.”

“This is an outrage!” Jim McCaskey complained.  “I’m just getting over one stick-up.  I’m a sick man.”

“Sure!” his brother exclaimed, furiously.  “You’re a pack of fools!  What d’you want, anyhow?”

“We want you to shut up!  See that you do.”  The old man’s eyes snapped.  “If you’ve got to say something, tell us how there happens to be a trail of rice from this man’s cache”—­he indicated one of his companions—­“right up to your tent.”

The McCaskeys exchanged glances.  Phillips turned a startled face upon them.

“It isn’t much of a trail, but it’s enough to follow.”

For a few moments nothing was said, and meanwhile the search of the tent went on.  When Pierce could no longer remain silent he broke out: 

“There’s some mistake.  These boys packed this grub from Dyea and I helped with some of it.”

“Aren’t you partners?” some one inquired.

Joe McCaskey answered this question.  “No.  He landed broke.  We felt sorry for him and took him in.”

Joe was interrupted by an exclamation from one of the searchers.  “Here it is!” said the man.  He had unearthed a bulging canvas sack which he flung down for inspection.  “There’s my mark, ‘W.  K.,’ and there’s the rip.  I knew we had ’em right!”

After a brief examination the leader of the posse turned to his prisoners, whose hands were still held high, saying: 

“Anything you can think of in the way of explanations you’d better save for the miners’ meeting.  It’s waitin’ to welcome you.  We’ll put a guard over this plunder till the rest of it is identified.  Now, then, fall in line and don’t crowd.  After you, gentlemen.”