It was a heterogeneous collection of articles, and at the sight of one box Mr. Howbridge exclaimed:
“There it is! The jewelry case I gave Miss Ruth! These men were either the thieves or they know something about the robbery. See if anything is left in the box.”
It was quickly opened, and seen to contain a number of rings, pins, and trinkets.
“Well, there’s a good part of it,” the lawyer remarked. “It will need Ruth and Agnes to tell just what is missing.”
Mr. Howbridge and Neale were watching the constable and his men finish the search of the cabin, while others of the posse had taken the prisoners to the boat, when suddenly into the shack came another man, whose well-worn clothing would seem to proclaim him as one of the “Klondikers.”
But at the sight of this man Neale sprang forward, and held out his hands.
“Father!” cried the boy. “Don’t you know me?”
“It’s Neale—my son!” was the gasping exclamation. “How in the world did you get here? I was just about to start for Milton to look you up.”
“Well, I guess, before you do, we’ll look you up a bit, and maybe lock you up, also,” said the constable dryly. “Do you belong to the Klondike bunch?” he asked.
“Well, yes, I might say that I do; or rather that I did.” said Neale’s father, and though the boy gasped in dismay, Mr. O’Neil smiled. “I understand the crowd has been captured,” he added.