bursting. "We reached the ruins of the cabin and—well, you know the rest."
Connie nodded. "Yes, I know the rest," he answered. "And, of course, I know you are no prospector." The man grinned, and the boy continued: "And, of course I know you are a whisky-runner and a mighty slick one, too. You put up a good bluff. You've got brains, but just let me tell you something, Mr. Prospector, or Dubro, or Inspector, or whatever you call yourself, you haven't got all the brains, and if I were to believe your yarn, you sure would have the laugh on B Division. If I turned you loose, Dan McKeever and Rickey never would get through kidding me! And wouldn't the Superintendent be proud of me?" Connie laughed aloud.
"But, kid, I am Inspector Cartwright! I've given it to you straight! Haven't I, Alice?"
The woman nodded. "Yes, indeed! Every word of it is true."
"I'm sorry you're mixed up in this, ma'm, " said the boy, gravely. "I don't blame you for trying to help him—I would, too, in your place—but, it won't work."
"Look here, kid, " broke in the man, and moving
