"What in thunder did they want to stop my star performance for?" asked Santa Claus, pulling off his beard and revealing the rubicund face of Ben Tremont, who was slowly baking beneath the heavy robes and hairy disguise.
"Well, he's gone, and only taken a pony and a window with him," said the major, "and he's welcome to both. And now, you men, we'll try to dispense with your company. You see, this is a private party, and had I known that you were in this part of the country, I probably would have invited you to be present. But I regret to say that the guest list is full."
The leader of the posse of deputy marshals looked up with a scowl. Apparently, he was mad clear through at the sudden and unexpected loss of his prospective prisoner.
As he looked about his eye encountered that of Ted Strong, in which he saw laughter, which did not tend to lessen his anger.
"I've a good mind to arrest the whole bunch of you for conspiring at the escape of a United States prisoner," he growled.
"You'd stand a fine show to do that," said Ted quietly. "On the other hand, I've a mind to arrest you for the forcible entry of this house."
"You have, have you?" sneered the other. "You make me laugh, young feller. You couldn't arrest a fly!"
Ted threw open his coat and showed that he, too, wore a star.
The leader of the posse leaned forward to read the authority on it.
"Who are you?" he asked huskily.