When we finally went down to the marshal's it was evening. He was tickled when he saw the picture. It made Skinny feel real chesty and we all of us were proud.
"I tell you, Mr. Michael," said he, "the Band's the stuff. I mean the patrol is. They don't get away from us very often. I only wish we'd had a rope with us that time."
"You boys certainly did the trick," said the marshal, examining the picture. "I don't know those men myself, but I know where they will know them, and that is the next best thing. That is, if they are old crooks, as I suspect they are."
"Where's that?" asked Skinny.
"At police headquarters in New York. They have a rogues' gallery there that would surprise you. It contains the pictures and records of nearly every crook in the country. If these men are among them they'll pretty near know where to put their hands on them. I'll mail this down to-night. I've telegraphed already. Come around to-morrow and I'll tell you if I hear anything."
He met us with a broad grin the next afternoon and showed us a telegram. This is what it said, for I put it down. Skinny thought it ought to be in the minutes of the meeting.
"Men well-known crooks. Are under arrest. Got the goods and most of the money."
"More than ten words are in that telegram," said Hank, counting them.
"There you go again," laughed the marshal. "I'll have to call the New York chief down for being so careless. Anyhow, your robbers will go to the penitentiary as sure as preaching."