streets, the plaza, their homes, nor their usual haunts could the
officers of the law find one of those for whom they had warrants.

"It's what I was afraid of," said Tuttle. "The hint got out too quick
for us, and now they 're all hiding."

"They've holed up somewhere, all in a bunch, and we 've got to smoke
'em out. Whoo-oo-ee-ee!"

The several whiskies with which Nick had succeeded in eluding his
friend's vigilance were beginning to have manifest effect, and Tuttle
decided that, whatever became of the Dysert gang, there was only one
thing to do with Nick Ellhorn, and that would have to be done at once.
He drove back to the Plaza Hotel, took Nick to his room, locked the
door, and put the key in his pocket.

"Now, Nick, you-all don't get out of here till you 're plumb
sober--sober enough to be sorry!"

Nick protested, but Tuttle threw him down on the bed and then
deliberately sat down on his chest. Ellhorn swore valiantly and
threatened many and dire revenges. But Tom sat still, in unheeding
silence, and after a little Nick shut his mouth with a snap and gazed
sullenly at the ceiling. He labored for breath for a while, and at
last broke the silence by asking impatiently: "Say, Tom, how long you
goin' to make an easy chair of me?"

"You know, without askin'!"

Nick relapsed into silence again until his face grew purple and his