"The more noise, the better." The young man, though not more cheerful as
to appearance, was certainly more talkative. "Trust a clergyman for
yelling when his pocket's picked."

With one voice the three of us exclaimed: "Mr. Ostermaier!"

He was not sure of the name, but "Helen" had pointed the clergyman out
to him, and it was Mr. Ostermaier without a doubt.

We talked it over with Bill when we got back, and he was not as
surprised as we'd expected.

"Knew they were cooking up something. They've got some Indians in it
too. Saw them rehearsing old Thunder Mountain the other day in nothing
but a breech-clout."

Tish reproved him for a lack of delicacy of speech, and shortly
afterward we went to bed. Owing to the root under the tent, and puddles
here and there, we could not go to sleep for a time, and we discussed
the "nefarious deed," as Tish aptly termed it, that was about to take
place.

"Although," Tish observed, "Mr. Ostermaier has been receiving for so
many years that it might be a good thing, for his soul's sake, to have
him give up something, even if to bandits." I dozed off after a time,
but awakened to find Tish sitting up, wide awake.

"I've been thinking that thing over, Lizzie," she said in a low tone. "I
believe it's our duty to interfere."